.the Tragedy At The Summer Music Concert Poem by Not Long Left

The proud hum of anticapation
murmured from every mothers
mouth.
Orchestral tuning teased
excited ears-
Blood coloured curtains
concealed the glow of the
performers faces.

Dressed in their best
The mothers politely acknowledged
each other with a smile and a nod
whilst the fathers planned DIY
disasters in their head.

'A months salary for this'
'what's money when it comes
to his future' Fingers sunk deeper
into freshly foreign pockets.

A young boy sits in a deserted
dressing room, he shakes and
wipes his tears on the arm of
a nameless coat.
At his feet lay an unopened violin
case the words 'the pressure of
pleasing' ran riot in his head.
He sighs and sink further into
the heavily holed chair.

Suddenly, he sits up and punches
himself on his nose, nervously
touching both nostril like a child
fearing the arrival of blood.
He waits for the red river of excuse
to come.

As the final flourish of akward
unbalanced sound bellows from
the stage a hundred hands collide.
The young boy with the trickling
nose bleed closes the door behind him.

Down in the bar
Mothers suffocate their own
as fathers raise a toast to themselves.
He makes his way through the horde
of gushing mothers and falls into his
own mothers painful gaze.

She cries inside, and he drowns.
Father looks out of the window,
looking for his lost life.
The young boy stands a little away
from her downpour of internal greif,
and stutters the words
'It was me nose bleed ma, that's why I didn't play'