Symphony Number 1 (To Lyra)

The PERCUSSIONS of the discussion now primed,

The STRINGS of statements prepped and well-timed,

The WINDS expelled from the mind are well-rhymed;

The orchestration begins, with all instruments combined.

A joyous melody, exceeds the zenith, of the former plausible ascension.

Explicit tones, precedes the implicit meanings, avoiding initial apprehension;

Until one reads and reviews the notes, with a discerning comprehension.

The prevailing tune leaves minds stuck, in a hypnotic state of suspension;

The rhymes and verses – inky black steeds, galloping to escape retention.

Harmony moving at speeds, which overcome the pace of light;

The metaphysical seeds, now implanted, overrun the mental sight.

The music soulfully pleads (still unsung) for life, strangled in a lyrical fight.

The experience feeds the imagination of one, like winds filled with might;

The air the spirit needs to rise, into the sun, in a versified form of flight.

Once the confusion recedes (Blurs undone) there`ll be no enigmatic plight.

Within the depths of the mind`s dark mire, a spark first is created with ire;

Then like added bark into a fire, it becomes the fuel for the stark burning desire.

Racing against time, to the mark; it grows higher, impelled to the arc, upward in a spire.

Flames in a protective ark, so the bard`s eternal flame expelled (without a lyre) won`t expire.

In the composer`s soul - he, often assumes and, presumes some semblance of control;

But understands the flare (which he cannot see), is like a primitive beast: wild and free.

While this untamed blaze, continues its captivating phase

(Like the sounds on sheet music, which a musician plays

The memory of each past position – a remnant – never stays

While each current moment – the present – always strays

Into another, still) the still continuum continues to amaze.

Each new beautiful step is becoming tantamount

To a steppe, no previous pristine plain can surmount;

Although in the preceding plane, the mind can recount,

And attempt to quantify each memoir’s valued amount.

Regardless, no obsolete scorching innuendo, no chronicled crescendo;

No prior ingenious cento, will ever prove to be a more valuable memento…

…Then the elucidation, the will`s conflagration, the mortal consecration;

Of this instant and the symphonic, melodic, harmonic – perfect observation.

Composed By: A. D.