It's empty, wanting
What are they clapping for?
Why are they mindlessly slamming their hands together?
Their eyes wander as their hands collide in false accolades.
Politely they nod their heads murmuring "Good show, good show."
But what do they know?
Blank empty faces continue their praise.
All the same.Checking their watches, ready to leave.
But still their hands clap on.
Encouraging you with their feigned appreciation
Relishing the tribute of the crashing hands
You drink it in through your eyes, ears, and mouth
Basking in the hammering recognition
Loving a shadow
Fighting to keep something that won't last.
But what do you know?
How long can they stand there?
How long will they humor you?
It won't last forever,
It can't last forever.
They will file out one by one
Critiquing your every move
They will turn their backs
Putting the offending hands back in their pockets
They will leave
Taking their empty praise with them
But there you will stand
A performer
Listening to the echos of the counterfeit clapping
Believing the lies of the applause
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