Chopin's Nocturne opus 9, number 2

A sonorous performance,
The mellow yet melancholic undertones of the masterpiece reverbates through the meadow
From the reflective rubato streaking past the flowerbed,
To the passionate conclusion in a whim, echoing through the garden,
The garden in which a willow rests
Its twigs holding a chalice in its embroidering,
Twines glowing in the shimmering of the silver moon,
Its dark-red fluids seeping from the cracks

It gazes through the dark crevasses for an eternity,
A panorama of planets and stars dwindling to dust as it stirs its nebulas,
Clouding its view as in parallel,
Universes as large as needle tips deteriorate to nothing

There's just naught, nothing, nothingness,
The black mass piercing,
Puncturing the veins of the solemn soul wandering through the canyon
Rubato, stringendo, it walks its own pace and in its solitude
The moonlight its guide, the music its guardian
The darkness its friend

The walls enclosed - an impasse clad in an aural hue descending from the stars
An eternal mirror flowing accross the pond
It took a gander in the deep lagoon and saw the galaxy unfold

Sparkling candenzas fluttering through the sky like fireflies
Ever abiding, expanding galaxies within the grasp of its cortex
The moon flows, the stream flows
The sound of drizzling water emanating from the distance
Timeless endeavour snaps back to reality

I found myself sitting in a dim-lit room, glass in hand
The mellow taste of the blood-red wine
A bouquet of fine grapes with cherry undertones
In the corner rests the mirror I gaze in occasionally

Seconds pass and I gazed into an abyss

Minutes pass and I gazed into an abyss
A murky shadow lurking

Hours pass and I gazed into an abyss
A murky shadow along two red stars

Days pass and I gazed into an abyss
A silhouette hued in rubescence grimacing with hollow eyes

Weeks pass and I gazed into an abyss
T H E  E Y E S  W A T C H  M E  W H E R E V E R  I  G O

Months pass and I observed a whole new universe
As I looked at the crevice staring back at me
It smiled and reached its hand

Years pass and I gazed into an abyss
The opaque mass piercing my glassy veil as familiarity reminiscences
A supernova of grief and destruction strokes my back, pinching my neck
The willow is dead
The moon is red
A brittle chalice crusted with blood

Then it fell silent and yet the nocturne faintly lingered in my head
As I stared into the mirror for the first time in centuries

It stared back, bearing the most unnerving grimace