It's not what you call me, but what I answer to.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Prelude to Ambivalence

Music floods my mind with no theme

I cannot make my fingers play the tune

I see the accent deliberately sitting on a scale

Followed by a half note and then another and another

I become covetous of purposeful notes

With every crescendo I hear

I am in constant de capo

I never reach the end

I cannot and so I do not

Fermata! I hear no more music

My senses have dulled

Now there is dissonance

I need to be grave

I need to have gusto

I am without cadence existing in a phrase

Not time for scherzos I bang on the keys

I am in retrograde

I am at an incomplete interval

You hear my diminuendo

I cannot and so I do not