‘You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.’ - To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
All eyes on him,
it’s time for his great performance;
expectations are high.
He knows what he’s doing.
His music reads con anima
but his eyes -
they do not match his posture
- poised,
- assertive
- proud.
His eyes oozing innocence,
like a child disillusioned by the world,
overwhelmed by the possibilities
of loss. Con anima.
He’s done this before, a musician of his time,
too much to offer.
As his fervor smorzandos
- fades,
so does his music,
so does his soul,
then silence.
Con anima.
He lost all purpose,
- all meaning.
He started questioning,
perfecting,
and it all went wrong.
Con anima.
The curtains have closed.
The performance is done.
What’s next lost boy?
You held the stage,
- the centre piece.
I turned to you.
We all did.
Con anima.
