A Post a Day, Day #2

Alright, second day of blogging my writing. While in the real world I am currently worrying about making sure bills get paid over the labor day weekend and how much I'm not looking forward to having to deal with customers today and tomorrow, I am glad to say that I am sticking to my blogging assignment. Anyway, today is another poem that I had written back in high school. This was from my senior year (back in 2010). This was the time of my life where I was worrying about what to do with myself now that I had finished high school. My ultimate decision was to go on to audition for conservatory schools and study music, so this poem is dubbed, "The Musician."

The Musician


I am like you:

a whilom wish for the present,
free from time yet locked away in it,
embracing the diaphanous with arms open,
I breath it in and fuse with it;

still
a calloused hand dancing in ephemeral joy,
steps moving bright paint across canvas
whispering, “I am...”,
etching itself across dry paint,
a melody locked in its womb:
B, D, E, A, B, Bb;

letting it in slowly,
devouring the life it sheds,
I gather the blood to be spilled and
decide to let go,
giving back the lives stolen by stones,
a fermata over knelling bells:

tears of sanguine effort
fall though Earth's mnemonic veil,
meteors vanishing in the sky,
I too live in only a moment,
light effluvium among roses;

swelling up from the ground,
exhausting the body behind a mask of glee,
reverberating through dead limbs and
though deaf ears, a call to the senses
in whispered thunderous dreams they fall,
ebb and flow with my heart's syncopation,
my wish for the present explodes,
sending viridian soot in the air:
B, D, E, A, B, Bb;

a frozen knell which hangs
over time and the mind,
fusing with their audience and
becoming like a rose, cascading
roots seep into rivers of crimson,
traveling miles in inches,
the skin shivers in sentience;

melody held within released,
relaxing muscles compress and send it
faraway, into another, this
symbiosis of air and fire
is painted with our voice;

so let the bells ring,
shatter the hold with 13's power,
believing in pacifist thorns
through sentience and skin
the sanguine bond falls and
it vanishes one last time:
B, D, E, A, B, Bb;

a feather entombed,
meant for others I can stand,
send a message without words
but with time and grace,
I'll flutter to those roots,
send shivers though spines and
free them from stones;

the reason they can dream,
the love of loving and the love itself,
the now no longer in time,
the effluvium among roses,
the darkness in the body,
the moments which still remain;

a mirror reflecting itself
in the faces of others,
in the frozen bell,
through the banal world
a rose stands alone,

I am like you:

Again, I feel this poem is rather bad. The stanza's have no intention and the number of lines in them are random. I wrote this poem to make a literal description of what it was like for me to perform for others. The notes at the end of some of the stanzas are actually a cipher for the word "breath", which I was strategically placing at the end of stanzas to make the effect of the 'musician' taking a breath as they get ready to 'play' the next stanza. I thought it was clever, I don't know what you'll think. Also, there was some imagery that I liked in this: mostly the pianist playing and the bit about roses. Anyway, that's my 'meh' poem on music~
Until tomorrow, happy writing everyone