Disclaimer : I own nothing. At all. Except very minimal writing talent.
A/N: This poem is my baby! I've been editing it for a few months, because I
have about five minutes to spare per day, but I've been sick lately, so... ta
da!
* I Shan't Let It Show *
My petticoats rustle gently as I step
Toward 'Don Juan',
A mysterious figure from the back of the mind,
The possibly most tormented and sharp mind ever granted to the earth,
Of a Phantom.
I swallow heavily as the beautiful music strikes up from the orchestra,
Low and seductive,
And I listen attentively to the voice.
The voice is not Signor Piangi's,
I know this,
But I shan't let it show.
The lyrics caress my ears like the petals
Of a particularly soft rose,
And they are sung in a velvety voice I recognize.
But still,
I shan't let it show.
My throat briefly contracts as I prepare to sing,
Words which I fear are going to destroy my façade.
My voice does not fail me,
And projects beautifully to the man who spilled them from his heart
To a page in song.
For a brief second,
I release my emotions in the heat of the song.
And as our voices unite,
I fear I shall faint.
But I shan't let it show.
And I know, in those final,
Fleeting moments,
That I will never finish this opera.
And as a thin, strong arm encircles my waist,
Fear clutches me again.
But,
With this man,
I shan't let it show.
* *
A/N: Please review , I need some criticism and optimism.
A/N: This poem is my baby! I've been editing it for a few months, because I
have about five minutes to spare per day, but I've been sick lately, so... ta
da!
* I Shan't Let It Show *
My petticoats rustle gently as I step
Toward 'Don Juan',
A mysterious figure from the back of the mind,
The possibly most tormented and sharp mind ever granted to the earth,
Of a Phantom.
I swallow heavily as the beautiful music strikes up from the orchestra,
Low and seductive,
And I listen attentively to the voice.
The voice is not Signor Piangi's,
I know this,
But I shan't let it show.
The lyrics caress my ears like the petals
Of a particularly soft rose,
And they are sung in a velvety voice I recognize.
But still,
I shan't let it show.
My throat briefly contracts as I prepare to sing,
Words which I fear are going to destroy my façade.
My voice does not fail me,
And projects beautifully to the man who spilled them from his heart
To a page in song.
For a brief second,
I release my emotions in the heat of the song.
And as our voices unite,
I fear I shall faint.
But I shan't let it show.
And I know, in those final,
Fleeting moments,
That I will never finish this opera.
And as a thin, strong arm encircles my waist,
Fear clutches me again.
But,
With this man,
I shan't let it show.
* *
A/N: Please review , I need some criticism and optimism.
