It's Quiet

It's quiet.
No shouts bounce off the walls.
No stand tunes break the early morning.
No drum taps echo down the halls.

It's too quiet.
No rhythm tapped out by a metronome.
No blasted notes from the saxes or trumpets.
No instructions shouted through a megaphone.

Too quiet to be normal.
No rifles or flags or sabers being tossed.
No show music sweeping over the field.
It's as if all music has been lost.

Something's wrong.
No feet marching in time.
No Guard Girls looking for their makeup.
No musicians to complain or whine.

What is it?
No sections tuning for a show.
No Piccolos or Flutes chatting and gossiping.
No uniformed band kids marching in rows.

I remember now.
No Drum Major salute to gain the audience's attention.
No Colour Guard to act out a story.
No judges to show if we have a chance of redemption.

It... It can't be true.
No cheers from the crowd.
No plumes standing tall.
No Director or Band Parents feeling proud.

This can't be happening.
No feelings of pride sweeping over the band.
No drum taps to march off the field.
No instructors to lend a hand.

And yet... It is.
No Seniors smiling sadly because it was their last time to perform.
No Freshmen eager to get to the buses to dress out.
No Sophomores or Juniors slowly taking off their uniforms.

I don't want to accept it.
No Guard Girls fighting for a brush.
No Flutes or Piccolos unbraiding their hair.
No Brass players running around in a rush.

But, I have to.
No stretching out cramped limbs.
No gathering around the Director for instructions.
No random outbreaks of song on a whim.

A nightmare that comes alive for half a year.
No jokes being shared or rumors being spread.
No heading up to the stands to watch other bands.
No sun beating down or notes being read.

The nightmare has started once again.
The thought shakes me to my core.
Our family is split up for the rest of the year.
Marching Season is over once more.