The Symphony
Tall, knowing trees danced in the soft breeze that carried a sweet melody.
Drums beat to the cadence of fairy like flutes which sang whimsical songs of joy, heartache, and longing.
Violins carried a mourning wave across the empty feilds of flowers.
I spun, feet pointing as I lept across the musical procession.
My hair was firey passion against a blueberry sky, silken flames which gave and consumed.
Soul and movement became one, a slender body pulling, twisting, reaching.
A sudden blow.
Like the waves crashing upon sand, blazes extinugished, the light grows dim.
Bird songs are haunting memories of their former cheer.
The trees, the grass, the flames... all was still.
Slowly the music began again, the dark symphony, unstated.
The twisting violins, cold and harsh against the bashing drums which echo in the wake of demonic flutes, leapt to rise again.
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (1)
Comments are closed for this poem.