The suspense is building.
Anxiety runs thick in the air
Like the mist of a fog.
The crowd is aflutter
With anticipation.
Suspended in tension
Awake and agog.
Who could have written
This narrative drama
Dripping with circumstance,
Clinching its' fist
In white-knuckled wanting,
Holding its' breath,
Waiting to see
Whose star has been kissed?
Finally, the time is here.
A prayer ascends from bending knees.
Who will it be?
Will it be me?
Oh god! The envelope, please.
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