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Umi Apr 2018
Words, conveyed by song,
A white witchery of chering emotions, sadness, may anger or grief, flowing alike a river through ones body once it's been sensed, heard,
Overcoming even time and space, giving the gentle look on your face some sweetness which I cannot describe, drawn in the landscape of my heart, a bittersweet melody unfolds, a flower blooming by night,
"Bury the earths ground in your petals, oh widely blossoming flower"
I thought whilst a breeze rushed through the leafs of nearby trees, making a pleasant noise, yet I cannot be in ease, after all I'm inhuman,
As time ticks on, the orchestra of mother nature develops in a stream of lingering sadness, with a magical touch one that embraces me instantly, locking me into a trance, of pleasure yet also great pain,
Was it my means or my purpose, was it my belief in good and evil ?
With no further hesitation, I swallowed all those meaningless questions and move my gaze up to the clouds in the heavens above,
Human or not, I remain without use for this world, what I realised is,
That I am, Nihilistic

~ Umi
Umi Apr 2018
The gentle tone of her teaching,
In wonderous melodies, orchestral knowledge from a sweet teacher,
Education set by the awareness of harmonizing, delicate instruments,
Wisdom and foresight, cast by no other judgement but of a conductor,
Whomst hand leads to the ups and downs of the intensity, recognised
Ensembling in the beauty of a sinfonietta, sounds flows uninterrupted
Let the singing pendulum to your mistress's pleasure fall to the bottom, attached to the chipped illusionists mask of anticipation!
To this dance the mascarade does not crack in the shadow of sound,
A wise scholar would not sacrifice one topic relevant to learn to the passing time, to her students unfortune that is, cast in pure grief,
A wise conductor does the same with musical notes, the story flows,
With the moon high in the sky, time stands in her way, questioning her to dance with the devil amongst a distorted, whicked dark,
But resillient to the end, tough and with no distraction taking her focus the director of this event finishes the creation of art, an orchestra
A craftwoman of tempo and elegance always stands out after all, bringing the musical score to life.

~ Umi

You are your own instrument in the
world orchestra

Join the chorus
Play a solo

Or

Simply stop
Rest
And listen to the beauty
happening all around you

The choice is yours

Be your own voice
Or follow another
But only follow another if
it resonates in your core
as your true calling

Above all else
follow your heart

Let your inner beauty shine
so that the world can
share in the special unique
characteristics and traits that glorify
your idiosyncratic nature
wholly encompassing
all that you are
Making you special
Making you YOU

Because the best version of you
is the authentic you
And it not only
brings inner peace
but is also
the greatest gift
you can give
the world
Written: March 8, 2018

All rights reserved
Lyda M Sourne Feb 2018
Up and down, play keys in forte,
Faster and faster, only by ear heard.
Cantabile, fortissimo, piano, fine,
A variety of gloom and love in tone.

Echoes all over the wall you feel,
Majestic and grand tells a tale of old.
Vibrato, detache, pizzicato, trill,
Its heartbreaking voice pouring out its soul.

Quiet and smooth, the wind blows through,
Glints of silver, brass, and gold.
Repeat the variation and the solo too,
Then continue at coda big and bold.

Beethoven, Mozart, Handel, Bach,
Music speaks what these quadrants lack.
Gabriella Jan 2018
I can make my instrument sing,
But not as well as others can bring.
I feel as if I'm soaring above a crowd
Above the entire orchestra,
I can hear myself floating above everyone else.
But yet, there is one who soars higher than me.
I move with the sounds
But they move better
More naturally.
My pitches are in tune,
I can hear them over everything
Until theirs is overpowering mine
Lifting me from my seat
Into a place that is unknown.
My tones struggle to sound
But they falter away.
Like the ending of
Movements in a symphony.
Comparison will ruin you.
Breeze-Mist May 2017
When it comes to my family and friends
I freak out when they get near my violin
But if it were a conductor or music student
Or a music professor most prudent
I'd let them throw it halfway across Washington
Cheyenne Yacono May 2017
Click clack click*
We left the comfort of the amethyst curtain
Onto the stained wooden stage
The room is wide and filled with echoes
I stare into the red seats where identical faces sit
They show no emotion and I want them to feel
Feel anger, joy, sadness, something
My instructor paces across the stage towards the microphone
Hello
Suddenly the words that were to follow turn into muffles
All I can hear is my heart beat
They sound like quarter notes
The muffles end once my instructor is back in my sight
He exhales and smiles
The burning lights make him look like a god
He raises the baton and I forget everything
1...2...3...
We play the keys robotically but we breathe humanity
The notes trace our fingers and play your heart strings
Our slurs curve your lips into a smile
We want you to feel joy
We want you to remember childhood memories
It's not just kids with instruments
There are stories being told
We put our life into the instruments
We remember being called fools
And how we were wasting our time
We tell you our stories through these notes
Hoping you will feel what we felt
But we'll never know until the final note
When the baton goes down and we bow to the crowd
It's exhilarating
Breeze-Mist Apr 2017
Musical standmates share
A special type of bond
Not one of friendship or love
But of knowing where things belong

You learn how to adjust the stand
So that it's the perfect height
How to turn a chair, pick up a bow
So it goes well on concert night

You also learn how they speak
(My stand partner loves bad puns)
And how to reply back to them
(With all the memes under the sun)
Breeze-Mist Mar 2017
Black swans and roses
And debonair dark hose
What the conductor says
Is how the music goes

Night's magic abounds
Students horse around
Then the music plays
And it's silent on the grounds

Spotlights make auras
Players dance through the stanzas
The night's nearly out
At the end of the codas

The kids run off the stage
Never losing a page
With the March air about
The swans act of their age
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