Audition

The light so bright, its blinding

Feet nervously shuffling as I look around

Look up as I clear my throat

Open my mouth but I make no sound.

Silence.

Its beautiful, isn't it?

The calm before the storm.

The serenity of the moment,

right before it shows its true form?

A cough in the audience.

The apprehension is exhausting

Can they see the sweat on my brow?

My fingers won't stop trembling

I feel nauseous to the core.

A twitching left eye.

They're judging me right now

I know it in my gut,

I was a nobody and always will be one

But.

This is my moment, my only moment.

A camera flashes.

I picture myself, up on the dais

A fool amidst a crowd of wits

My head hangs low, my self-belief, lower

I look down, into the abyss.

The screech of a microphone.

I'm shocked back into reality

But not into speech, my throat's so dry

I have failed, my will is broken

My heart gives up. I cry.

Tears.

I cry for every day I've lost

I cry for every unwritten ream,

I cry for every broken voice

I cry for every unheard scream.

A sniffle in the crowd.

I cry for every heart I've broken

I cry for every friend that's parted,

I cry for everything unfinished

I cry for what I never started.

Applause.

Why are they clapping? 

What do they see?

What are they doing?

Was it maybe.. me?

The hint of a smile.

Poetry, what does it mean to you?

Syllables, words or a rhyming scheme?

A shapeless thought, an abstract idea

A fantasy, or an impossible dream?

Realization.

Poetry to me, is syllables.

Poetry to me,  is words.

Poetry to me,  is a rhyming scheme.

Poetry to me,  is a shapeless thought.

Poetry to me,  is an abstract idea.

Poetry to me,  is a fantasy.

Poetry to me,  is an impossible dream.

Poetry to me,  is a photograph.

Poetry to me,  is a speech.

Poetry to me,  is a sunset.

Poetry to me,  is a gesture.

Poetry to me,  is raindrops on my window.

Poetry to me,  is the memories I treasure.

Poetry to me,  is the shreds I preserve.

Poetry to me,  is the smiles I remember.

Poetry to me,  is the tears I cry.

Poetry to me,  is everything.

Everything is poetry to me.

I walk off, not having said a word

I don't look up, nor show you my face,

Not one word spoken, yet my heart lies open

And I welcome you, to my solace.