Music is all powerful, music is pure expression.
It is more powerful than the seraphic runes which cannot be spoken.
Dare I translate my memories into melodies and those into words?
I go on, for I have lost whatever I had to lose.
Doleful melodies, painful memories.
The slight echo of music, terribly beautiful.
Alone, in the chamber of the illusions my mind carved,
I strum a grand piano.
An orchestra plays to my descent.
Hear the trumpets blow, the cellos play.
A soft tune wafts from the keys, how can it be so full of longing and rage?
These keys feel alien to my fingers, the scene feels on fire.
Smoke fills my lungs as I mourn your loss.
A crescendo.
An echo of paradise lost forever, barred.
This music is painful, yet I dare not stop.
Resonating in the glass corridors of the palace I made as ode to you,
All those moments of joy and tranquility burn as I play.
Each piece of the beautiful memories I forged with you, break away and sink into my psyche.
Yet the music dare not stop.
Each stroke. Each note.
Sings of loss, lament and woe.
But somewhere there is hope.
Violins now. Repeating what my heart feels.
'This palace cannot hold this strain,
The power of this music is great.
It weaves its way into the essence of all I know.
Corrupting all things joyous,
Tainting the pure white snow with bleak sorrow.
Each note I play, hurts my soul.
Each symphony is a painful reminder of my loss.
But it is over now, all is lost.
All songs end, mine is over now.
Farewell to you, may the broken palace of my dreams be a fitting tribute.