Roiling blue notes glisten
Sweep
Dip
Vibrato, shimmering across vast plains
Soaring hymns over thick, angry chords
A pluck of a string, slow soft cello
Piano caresses the afterthought
Tumbling, swooning
ecstasy
from
fingers
on Brass
to Eternity and
Sepia pages
The loudest symphony
is a Silent ghost
between the notes
Pause.
Author notes
Sometimes the music isn't about the music.
A contest entry
- what happens in the white spaces by Dienush.
750 points, ended April 30, 2008, 24 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please let me know what you think. Anything you can contructively criticize will help. This is my first stab at writing in two years.
Comments
-
And you're so right about that. Without silence there would be no music. I love the imagery in this. Thank you for your entry.
~Diana -
This bit is brilliant!
The loudest symphony
is a Silent ghost
between the notes.
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