There was so much going on.
He had picked up a single instrument. Just one....
However, now, hundreds & hundreds of songs rolled on
& strummed on, as strings were plucked... keys were pressed,
reeds & woodwinds were given air; &, amidst it all, faintly but still...
one could hear the ***-pum-pum beat of a billion drums.
The musicians keeled over on stage; there were bigger things going on here. They gave it their all; their fingers bled. For this experience,
they traded everything, down to their very last breathes.
They laid, having had given their lives, & yet....
after all was said & done, he stood there
holding no instrument,
but rather a conductor's baton.
For all along
..it was him.
...It's him. The Maestro...
The Rea Son
...this insane show
carries on... & on..
Till he finally stops,
& drops his dark wand..
Till the power leaves him ..drained..
Till he collapses ..frail-ed.. sun-dried,
fatigued... as if for years, after years, after years..
to his knees __to the floor.. Till he looks done for.
...But after a moment, he'll rise ...much younger,
a bit darker, although ...stronger & toned.
Give him a moment: he'll rise empowered....
having paid the price of sacrifice,
of both the moon & the sun.
Then the dark deed will have yet-again
been done. Then he will wait ..for a new beginning
to find him, & once it does...
like a Nile crocodile ...he'll chomp;
& once latched on... no matter what....
he'll repeat this process, till the rivers run
dry. Till then he'll never let go.
Not till that fresh start has ceased,
& turned into an end, forever frozen.
Only then... once other's chance for opportunity
has been stopped... Only then... will he let go ...before
he dies, only to be revived, again. &, only for that brief moment.... before his final breath, before he is to be revived again,
will he question himself, including all his sins:
truly understanding them,
grasping the horror
-- the horror of his actions --
the horror of him.
in the works.