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
first kiss
we hope
still swollen
we really sucked
her mouth

you ever kissed
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.
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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