Largo e mesto,
Con pizza, no pesto.

There once was a man from Zumbrota
Who’d suck down a 2-liter soda,
    Then burp up a symphony
    By Beethoven winsomely,
From the first bar to the end of the coda.  

#
cosy sleep under wraps,
listening rain’s symphony;
life in half a dream!
your body is an instrument I mastered eons ago, when the stars were young.
it is you I have, and shall always yearn to play.

at my touch, you open up to me; lines of familiar notes upon my fingertips.

together, we harmoniously orchestrate the ethereal music of our souls: a sonata of infinite synchronicity.
the symphonies we conduct originate from the stardust of our souls.

© kalica calliope
Bek B Apr 10
If I brought flowers to your symphony
Would you drink me with the same bravado,
as if I were your favorite glass of Malbec?
Dakota L Apr 2
Classical music makes life feel so important
Oh, just to feel Something;
I’d die to really know It…
My mind’s not accepting
A mirage or a counterfeit

So, in space I grope forward
In light of time’s clues
An abstract explorer –
On life’s mysteries, I muse

I know what is good
I know what is true
But “Why?” – “How could?”
A dim mirror still the view…

I speculate to see
How can I explain?
There is a Grand Scheme
Which beauty makes plain

A symphony – it sings
Throughout all the earth
Every thought and every thing
Screams of Infinite Worth

Some yet cannot hear
Some yet cannot see
But who am I? I’m just here
Just a wanderer to be…

My two hands – they build altars
To One yet Unknown
My two lips – they sing Psalters
To a yet empty Throne

And I labor, I strive
Haunted by that soft Whisper
I run just to arrive
But when asked, I’m a lisper

What is the meaning?
What is the end?
No one is intervening
And no one will descend

Am I just dreaming?
Did I pick up a trend?
Then why is my heart screaming?
I can no longer pretend…

Who Am I? Not the Thinker –
But an idea of some Mind…
All my thoughts like a finger
Pointing away from the designed

Who Am I? Not the Singer –
But a song of some Voice…
A sweet melody replays and lingers
The heart, mind, and soul rejoice

Who Am I? Not the Sculptor –
But clay in some Hand…
A presumed product of the culture
But whence comes strength to stand?

Who Am I? Not the Artist –
But canvas for some Creator…
My life: a story written and charted
By the Author and Illustrator
her lips
that
first kiss
we hope
her
lips
are
still swollen
we really sucked
her mouth
?
















...
..
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you ever kissed
an
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Mb Feb 15
My life was utter darkness
and furthermore I felt so blind,
quite like a black canvas.
Until you brought colours to it.
-inspirational work.

You are the artist,
who brought art in my life.
-mb
Do follow Sweet Symphony,
She got amazing stuffs.
This stroke me this morning when things were getting hard, and thus I can't resist from posting this.
Thank you so much sweet symphony.
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