The talkative crowd

Ready to jump on any mistake you make,

The orchestra playing the overture

Soothing the audience while they wait for the performance.

The cue just went out to the cast

And like a ripple, it reaches everybody there, so the other actors know

That the time to act

Is now.

The first entrance, a staircase, gets better every scene.

Your lines don’t come to your thoughts,

Instead they go straight to the mouth

Before you know what you’re saying.

The rhythm of the music

Runs though your head

Pouring the notes out of your mouth

Intermingling with words

To make the wonderful sound we call music.

The final bow, a curse in disguise

Basking in the glory is wonderful

But then, the play is over

And sorrow fills inside of you like a glass of lemon juice 
Sour and tart.