We The Free

Each pitch was perfect

echoing throughout

the deserted auditorium

The light above burning

to their fullest potential

only the spotlight was off

resting on the worn floor

just in front of a

lonely, lanky soloist

Whose eyes barely

twitched; empty and scared

as if imagining an applause

That would never ring

against the drums in

 the ears that matched

the flawless notes

escaping in a caravan

of soft melodies

Dusty red velvet curtains

came barreling inward

kissing as each side met

Behind the soloist

remaining still

While the spotlight

darkened and drove

through any solid

foundation, a hole

Soon a twitch

in the fourth finger

lead to another

Then the entire hand

closing in on itself

to grip, to clench

blue veins protrude

against the skin of the arm

a face sculpted for anger

From behind the curtain

a sliver of pure water

snaked its way around

Over the miniscule

particles of dirt and dust

towards the bottomless

hole where the

unreached spotlight

had shown moments before

Falling easily over

the rounded edge

as an unbroken stream

Making a glassy trickle

like water from a faucet

the only sound

heard in many years

besides the voice of

the soloist

Ringing like an untuned

symphony, far, far away

yet so foreign it blistered

The drum which only

recognized angelic pitches

causing the fists to

 clench, tighter

making the sweat drop

into the ever-widening water

The mouth forced open

eyes collapsed to a shut

chords in the throat

Caught, no sound

came out,it had

mutated pitches

dancing in its wake

that cannot be heard,

not worthy of praise

And yet these silent years

reflected in a wet mirror

behind the stage are hazy

As the short hand

reached the seven

in the evening every

night, the soloist took

the stage alone

flawless, no applause

Water now rushing

well past the ankles

swayed the soloist

Still writhing in a

pain from endless

vacant applauses dripping

to the water and mixinig

in each memory that was held

in a moment flooding from

The  cracking mirror,

shards shooting off

and swept into the current

To the hole which

had no end

until the pressure

became unbarable

the mirror burst

into a great wave

Knocking the

soloist from his

lonely stance of perfection

Free falling in the hole

washed by the water

which held his pain

the waves sounding much

like the applause desired

lifting the weight

We the Free