Encore Poem by Andrew Kennedy

Dear violins with strings of grace,
cue the orchestra.
As melodics of bloodshot eyes,
take pace to the piano's echo.
Preformance in resurrection.
Curtains rise and curtains fall,
but nothing's as uncertain as where our feet stand now.
Will we shake; will we stumble,
a quiver or fault?
At recognition of lights above,
as the crowds below lumber.
Sleep walks, and talks,
but rest gives away to the drumless beat.
We men in pattened down silk and washed ties,
and the conductor stand aligned.
His arms go up as the sound grows deeper,
and lips grind to take shape,
to bare soldiers as good as dead.