Night filters sight and sound
into separate caves of awareness,
Owls and nightjar's duet
in different tunnels of time.
For generations
the forest has gathered here,
it has its own language,
one rooted through layers
of nocturnal sentience.
In the harkening cabin
sounds interface,
lull mind and ears,
into imaginary auditoriums.
Subliminal arboreal words
read me to sleep -
thoughts rustle like
whispering leaves.
Symphonies and ballets
No wonder you are loved.
“The Nutcracker” and “Swan Lake”
Were those ones you dreamed of?
I heard you filled halls and auditoriums
You were good at painting music with soul
A romantic prodigy of your era
“Has a profound tune as a whole”.
Your overflowing melodies and harmonies
They sound like a quaint orchestration
Where everything flows with the beauty
It moves my emotion.
Waiting last in the Queue
Z
Standing before the first
A
Zoom now no auditoriums
We are The broken promises
We are The tattered seams
We are the Empty auditoriums
We are the broken dreams
I am the endless fire
I am The shattered vase
I am a broken record
That you can never replace
I am the the shameless violence
From many years ago.
Broken bones and battered heart
Thrown against the wall.
What I really needed was someone
Who can see,that really I’m not broken
Or half of who I used to be.
Bring back my faith that not all men
See a victim and a pawn.
To hold me up when I want to fall
Sometimes I’m just too weak from carrying it all.
Mozfart, like his brother was possessed of rare ability
Performing in Vienna for European Nobility
Farts of such, power, passion and brilliance
His pants we're reinforced for extra resilience
Amazing you'd think to have a musical bottom
But wouldn't recitals perhaps get a bit rotten
But although be blew through a rather large horn
The accompaniments were pleasant, I'm pleased to inform
For not only could Mozfart trump his brothers Sonatas
Without the use of additional apparatus
With variable, fragrance, flatulence was he also empowered
And could make his blow-offs smell like a field full of flowers
Mozfart's trumper was a musical revelation
Where ever he went he was quite a sensation
Farting Bach's Concerto in packed auditoriums
Then making it smell of roses for standing ovations
This attention put his brother in such a foul mood
He put a tub of fart power in poor Mozfart food
To deliver his grand finale the maestro bent low
And as he exploded took out half the front row
Although he died tragically
He lived his life magically
So next time you think you're about to drop a potty
Think of poor Mozfart and his amazingly musical botty
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