Performance Poem by Random Poet

First steps into the dark hall.

The first phrase starts with an echo
of the beating rhythm of taps on the ground
- oh, how the percussion gives
a start to the awakening music!

The second, with a blast of the horns
A chill to those who beseech water tunes
But all is normal in the dark hall
As the musicians continue to do so
With fiery passion, and unknown persistence.

Next comes the choir,
the ensemble for words, they say.
They move the audience with voices
Different parts echo the other
Like cicadas in the bland forest
Providing entertainment to those who
Enjoy.

Though the woodwinds make lovely music
they can be drowned out by the others
for they are too soft and too weak
and they cannot get louder,
so they die off in the middle.
An unpleasant aftertaste.
But no one minds the woodwinds.

Intermission comes and goes,
as they take a break for the next
part of the concert.

I must express, I don't understand,
The conductor is not really quite there
He waves with an empty wand
That looks more of a decoration
Than of actual use.

The players, with dull emotions,
Look at the floor as if it were
A work-space, a jail!

Oh, it's the end
And all the audience
Are as one
As they clap - to a beat.

I find the performance
Intriguing.