At first there was silence.

But in that silence a rage.

A rage like the violence done by the dawn on the passing of the night sky

Leaving in its wake the bloody clash of colors that so fervently take hold of the meaning of brilliance

But silence is the pause before the masquerade,

Before emotions dance in cluttered corners so limited by space that

It bursts

 

Then the first note

The clamor of a single dissonant piano key

It’s high pitch reverberating

Bringing tension, bringing movement, bringing change

Afterwards another note, then another, then another

Then a cascading waterfall of noise and color

Roses

The space filled to the brim with running notes

with running eyes

with dripping languid smiles hesitant to turn upwards

It was love

It was always love

Certainty

 

Excitement brimming, overflowing, overreaching

The cup filled, spills all about

The hand loses grip

It topples,

Spilled

The notes stop, the melody reverberates and lingers long

But is not renewed

It is not returned

The day takes hold

Silence again.