We were the music, and no one heard it but us.

The drums were prancing in my chest, thumping in rapid fervour.
The violins carried the world on its shoulders,
The guitars brought him into the sky,
And the piano lifted me up to join him.

There was music in our hearts and music in ours bodies,
Spreading like a wave onto the shore,
His lips brushed against my skin, tasting like salt
I matched his beat with mine.

There was music in our hearts and music in our bodies,
Dancing around a hole of blue in a crisp nightingale's cry.
We sang with our crashing waves,
Yet, in the moment we embraced,

there was no music reaching our ears.

We were the music, and no one heard it but us.

"Shh," she hushes me.

I watch her close her mouth, then her eyes. But her very soul, she exposed to everyone, to me, in the auditorium. The music begins, and I literally see the intro of the song sink into her skin. I notice her shiver; not that i didn't want to put my arm around her to warm her up because it wasn't the temperature of the room. It was the music. She was feeling it. She is it. Her breathing to the piano's notes, her heart beat rhythmic to the dancing fingers on the keys: I can see it all. Her shoulders rising and falling--

"Oh," she softly speaks, pulling me out of my melodic reverie. "Did i just-- A tear, how silly of me to cry."

But before she could wipe her cheek, I took her hand in mine and kissed the tear away. She had this confused look, but it soon melted as I neared her.

She was not only music, she was a symphony. And every fiber of me was in tune with her, and there wasn't anything else in the room which I payed attention to.

Met you the day I thought I'd die
You cured my ******* January blues
After losing all I had to lose
I called you knowing loneliness poison

Intending to one night stand
You up

Late night mellow rock and
Balcony smokes in ice age Michigan
Bodies moving like snowflakes
Tears melting like liberated ice
My old world fading like a faraway pebble's wakes
My love becoming so loud I couldn't hear a word again

In silence I heard violins
An invisible orchestra playing to
The life I thought I was conducting

Too late did I learn
I was merely another violin
There for you to play
And without you pulling at my heartstrings
I would fall out of tune
And into disrepair

I was staring at the wall in choir today,
and I realized that people are like orchestra’s.
You can’t know someone completely
by simply listening to them once.
You have to listen a thousand times,
pick out every instrument individually.
And once you do that,
you have to memorize every single cue, note,
and crescendo.
I want to know what his orchestra sounds like.
I want to hear the cello, the clarinet, and the violin
floating along in clippets.
The sound of brass, string, and percussion
all combining in perfect harmony.
The problem is, how can I listen to an orchestra,
when I am too scared to enter the theater?

I am a sheet of music
I start quietly building on the quartet of Strings
the Violin starts a shimmering sound
backed up with the viola
the solemn sound of the cello
and the ground breaking bass
united in harmony

There is a rest a break in note
I am part of a Symphony an overture
out of the heart of the music
a quiet roll
the timpani building in sound
full orchestra building in amazing ******


Fireworks, Percussion, Brass, Woodwind, Strings
Combined together in unity
performing to the quality levels of sound
the amazing Tchaikovsky in 1812

Creativity and Imagination
shaking the core of the earth

Get me down to the local band stand
traditional and modern grand
Cornets, Euphoniums and tuba's in tune
I love the sight I'm so immune
from the pits of Yorkshire and round the globe
Scores resounding from Adobe
The Conductor's baton keeps the beat
and if its wrong they stamp there feet
from amateur to championship
all you have is brass to lip
contests regional every year
and music reading not play by ear!

Constant
From the cue of entrance
Through the chaotic ink splashes
And the measures of rest
A part of us keeps this rhythm
Strung clear and precise
Mysteriously, wandering throughout
We pass around the chore
Until the final chord is drawn

But we survive
In the minds of our audience,
Forever trying to grasp hold of
Our fleeting orchestral heart beat:
Ostinato