Appreciation

You would be surprised how many times I've gone without any recognition at all.

Sitting in the audience

Watching the pianist play

His beautiful blur of fingers

And emotional display

Although that was five months ago,

His name I still can spell.

He deserves the recognition,

That Jon-Micah Braswell.

But likely I'm the only one,

Who ever gives recognition.

Although it should always be done,

To anyone as beautiful a musician.

I sit atop the stage,

Soloing the Nocturne,

Yet my name shall be left unrecognized,

My name nobody shall bother to learn.

I sit in front of the conductor,

Underneath the stage.

The singers and dancers above me,

Constantly filled with rage.

A mistake from one of the actors,

A broken show up there,

Yet the music down here so wonderful,

That nothing can compare.

Yet nobody shall ever notice

That I did even play.

Despite all my effort into the music,

Which all my energy did convey.

For I am the one who has no name,

The one that nobody knows.

The one that performs so beautifully,

But never even gets a rose.

For I am the one who risks it all,

Taken down by a single mistake,

Which is made so easily

If I even start to shake.

For I am the one who stands on stage,

And plays with all I've got.

They say, "Good job," afterwards,

Although they know me not.

But even so, I still go on,

And play without my fame,

And gratefully receive the audience's applause,

Despite being the man who has no name.