He

He
sits still,
waiting,
solid upon his throne.

He
centre stage
the stares
elude him nonetheless.

Over
comes the page
bead of sweat
prey for a deft sleeve

He
returns
wary, intent
alert in position once more

The applause
thundering,
never striking.
He smiles.

Eyes closed
a paradise of fantasy.
Now
Bow

Rebirth

Here begins my canvas of silent sound.

Go.