Vivacissimo

Vivacissimo guitar sitting unplayed, unlearned beside its counterparts: piano, saxophone, koto, soon to be joined by a banjo a silent quintet untouched, unheard why do I not put my hand to them why do they sit in this orchestral mausoleum is it because there is no music within me, no euphony bursting from inside that must find expression in the movements of my fingers is it that I fear untamed chords and notes will come of the tumult of my mind, cacophonous sharps and flats that refuse lyrical composition and what if the clefs line up and Aeodean beauty and grace emerge instead, flying from me in a frenzied vivacissimo how much more frightening is beauty than silence