Student Publishing Program ::

Isaac Levien

The Audition

Stress builds for weeks
My practice is never enough,
Every note must be perfect
Every phrase unique.

The day arrives
But only after a long night
Full of ideas and worries.

I step into the room,
Music and instrument in hand
And the stress of weeks in mind.
My vision feels blurred,
Eyes trapped in a fog.

Through the fog I see them.
They sit there with pen in hand,
Ready to find every wrong note
Ready to critique every phrase.

But I can’t worry about them,
I need to start playing.
My fingers take their place,
Moving precisely and leniently,
Like an actor through a play well rehearsed.

No need any more
For the eyes which caused confusion,
Or for the thoughts that kept me up.
Now there is only music.

[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2012 EDITION]