the unsung song,
the unplayed melody,
the unknown Love
of the faceless composer.
He paints his art out page after page,
splays his soul out in blood-black dots and lines,
each lilt and tilt of dormant rhythm is his heartbeat, and
every yearning harmony his deepest and most ponderous thought.
A song that will never be sung.
A refrain that will never reverberate within the thick skulls of men.
A melody that will never live.
He poured His Lifestream into
The Lovesong:
invisible wings,
emaciated, stunted, and withered
with ennui and disuse.
The winds of the world will rip them up
and tumble us back into meager dust.
We were so wilfully blind.
I never really knew beauty, when I could neither see nor hear
because I rejected Music.
Now we will never fly.
Now we will never breathe.
Now we will always die.
Author notes
15. Faceless Composer
Stone Soup 2009
A contest entry
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Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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A song that will never be sung.
A refrain that will never reverberate within the thick skulls of men.
A melody that will never live.
He poured His Lifestream into
The Lovesong:
invisible wings,
emaciated, stunted, and withered
with ennui and disuse.
The winds of the world will rip them up
and tumble us back into meager dust.
<3
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Interesting thoughts here, though it turned from one thing to another midway. Thanks for entering.
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nice effort. best of luck.
~Dani~ -
loved this
very unique
thanks for the effort -
Wonderful
excellent!
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Ooooh NICELY DONE! I love what you've done with the prompt!
Awsome piece. Good luck to you in the contest!
♥ Kathraina
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