Anticipate the time, feel

Rhythm surging, rushing you toward

Your moment. Hands pulsing, keys

Slippery with sweat, one page

Away, tension swelling, lifting

The brass louder, a brief climax

Before silence.

It is here.

Your chance.

Simple at first, quarter notes, the bass

Comes back in, guitar comps

The changes, but you don’t

Hear. Your fingers quicken

Their dance, return to the ninth, again,

And again, fling up the scale, slide

Up a half step, now block

Chords clashing in delicate

Harmonies. Whip one final

Phrase, ease off the ivory, the moment

Is done.

Silence.

The audience forgot

To applaud.

Eh, so here's another poem. Obviously, more modern than my other attempts. To be specific, the only obligation this poem has is that it is precisely 100 words long. While here at my school we have pretty decent audiences, well-versed in knowing when to applaud and not, I personally know the feeling of spending your life's blood in the jazz solo and then being greeted by absolute silence afterward. Not a fan.