The notes like angels fall upon the
paper submissive on the lines.
As if they were meant to mean more
than just a ceremony
of notes.
Giving a eulogy to
my own request.
But even though cherubs grace my
thoughts, divine interpretation
of an ending as this quill of white,
gracing every imprint..
Perfection is blotted, the lines will
never grace this reflection again.
An orchestra of hand gestures play,
as if I see ever instrument grace
the air in synchronized perfection.
I realise that I may not be a pauper,
or one of riches and fame..
But I have a feeling that I'll live on
within the lines of my creations.
A eulogy of my sound vibrating though
the halls of time, my eulogy is
the sound I left behind never words.
Apr 13, 2020
Apr 13, 2020 at 5:16 PM UTC
The notes like angels fall upon the
paper submissive on the lines.
As if they were meant to mean more
than just a ceremony
of notes.
Giving a eulogy to
my own request.
But even though cherubs grace my
thoughts, divine interpretation
of an ending as this quill of white,
gracing every imprint..
Perfection is blotted, the lines will
never grace this reflection again.
An orchestra of hand gestures play,
as if I see ever instrument grace
the air in synchronized perfection.
I realise that I may not be a pauper,
or one of riches and fame..
But I have a feeling that I'll live on
within the lines of my creations.
A eulogy of my sound vibrating though
the halls of time, my eulogy is
the sound I left behind never words.
