of the virtuoso,
and the power that she holds.
Watch her bear her soul for the crowd,
while maintaining composure and control.
are clear, and her story bold.
She fears not lies that jealousy told.
she is the master.
A prodigal genius since the age of five.
she is a disaster,
just trying to survive.
By the applause
she lives and dies.
Hitting the crescendo,
her performance carries
us along for the ride.
It’s a feeling
only she can really describe.
The audience, now kneeling—
to the new Goddess of Music—
the stage, and takes
off her mask. She’s turning the page,
she pours herself another glass.
home, which is in the upstairs
of the concert hall. There she
retreats and lays her head against the wall.
She wondered if the crowd
had really loved her at all.
She wants to be proud,
but she’d never say as much aloud.
She wants to please the audience,
and she knows what it takes now.
However, the show is only a temporary escape.
When she turns back to the reality of this place,
she struggles to fall asleep.
Her heart has too many burdens to keep,
and playing the Virtuoso isn’t cheap.
Her work is perpetual, she pushes on to the next one,
her pulse beats in a Pyrrhic pursuit of perfection.
She longs for that connection
with the crowd, the clap, the roar,
that moment when she realized
what all the heartache was for.