Inky night, exploding with fireworks,
That fade like a waking dream,
Their end signaling the beginning.
The air is electric with waiting,
As the crowd eagerly anticipates
The experience they are to share.
A common thread unites them,
They share a hunger, a yearning
To be transported away by song.
The artists take the stage,
Preparing their instruments
Like a thread and needle, sewing us together.
Drums softly sound singular rhythms,
Which group together, making patterns,
Shedding individuality, becoming part of a whole.
The drums give way to sweet guitars,
Echoing out in broad, striking harmony,
Their acoustic frenzy holding my soul
Music plays, suspending time;
The crowd inhabits a collective past,
Tied together by a common rhythm.
And I, no there is no I,
We -- our identities blurred together
feeling, rather than listening through the night.
Lawrence R. Daffner, 2/93