in choir, we sing a song about the death of children,
all latin and deep and dark
in my head is a forest with the song always playing, deep and latin and dark
imaginings of trees and dead children,
this is what I am singing
Of course, everyone else is singing crescendos and diminuendos and harmonies and their parts, but I
I am singing trees and dead children
on second thought this is maybe not the best plan,
just as this poem is maybe not the best plan
here we go breaking the 4th wall again
trees and dead children

in choir we sing a song about marriage
someone said no
the piece is conversational and relaxed
i am not relaxed about rejection,
regardless of performance markings and instructions

in choir there is a workshop, where a man tells us about feeling the line of the song.
I understand all about these lines,
pulling and pushing and carrying us through the music
he says we have to control it,
but no one has ever controlled the line of music

There once was a tune which did but play
A melody of heavenly descent
Able to mend the broken heart of man
Washing desolation of the soul
All doubt drowned out and gone
And sewing the pieces back again
But this song when final notes sound
Would take the life of those who heard
So no man listened or attempted to endure
In fear of the consequences of its curse
Until there stepped a broken boy
Torn by shame and shattered dreams
With nothing to his name he grit his teeth
Immersing his mind in the deep waters of this elegant sound
Journeying through the crescendos and diminuendos of life itself
When final verse of notes did play
Opening his eyes, the old man which took the boys place
Realized, that he was reborn again
And his desolate life was good again
Thanks to his decision
To endure that song
As he died with a smile upon his face

She's a star that fades not, even in daylight
Sun that shines bright in the pitch of the night
an exhilarating adventure on an endless path
an antique jewel of tremendous worth.
She's the calm after a ferocious storm
a mystic place metamorphosed into an affable home
a fragrant red rose in the rain with some bit of thorns
yet a clear pond carpeted by a ballet of snow white swans
She's classical music harmoniously retailed by a violin
tectonics whose cosmic shifts made my melancholic existence spin
a euphonic crescendo of hope that finally entrapped
the cacophonous diminuendos of my despair
She's an ice cold drink on a sweltering day, a breath of fresh air...
a durable canvas upon which I've drawn life lessons
an intricate piece of heaven, she's an artistic impression.

To oceans that sway at her feet, clouds that melt in her mouth
Trees that whirl at her sight, the earth that swoons at her touch
Her scent that pervades in the air that you breathe
Constellations that fathom into her being
Love that resides in her heart, fear that rests in her mind
Her eyes divine and holy, two sable crystals in a sky full of milk
Her lips pagan and profane, like pomegranates ripe and rotten
The blush of her cheeks, like blemishes on a silk scarf
Her smile that enchants you, that you wish was yours or she was yours
All music that lowers to diminuendos and all senses that nether to bliss
Her presence that is all-encompassing, her attitude dulcet and demure
Her valley is the valley of love and worship that smells of zest and warmth