Nestled in a darkened room.
My feet pulled back beneath the
chair
Meant to avoid late-coming traffic
of
Those too unfeeling to arrive on
time.
Ploying my neighbor to wrestle the
armrest,
A respite of comfort as evening
advances.
Straining to read the last lines of
the program;
Looking for hints of what may lie
ahead.
Patience thins with the slightest
delay
As anticipation stands on its toes
And stretches and strains to be
Launched on its journey,
Longing to see which direction it
goes.
The overture starts as the crowd
becomes hushed and
Familiar melodies fill the room...
A sour note from a horn breaks the
air as
Peripheral motion is spied in the
wing...
The crowd settles in with focused
attention,
Awaiting the miracle yet to unfold
as
The night becomes magic, reality
fades,
The stage fills with life and
The play is the thing.
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