by Ysabelle Moriarty
Music wafts from
The concert hall
Into my empty bar.
The fact that I'm not
The one taking the stage
Reopens a long closed scar.
The glasses stand ready
There's wine to be poured
The performer's hope
To be adored.
Just close your eyes and
Hear the violin play
Enjoy the music from afar.
I may not be
The one with the bow
But at interval - I'll be the star.
Copyright ©:
Ysabelle Moriarty
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Wannabe writer, Procrastinating poet, Novelist with no idea, http://the-no-ink-notebook.tumblr.com/
Last updated March 19, 2011