Strange Symphony

 

Amidst the relics of history, this old tale was unearthed from the ethereal veils of a very long time past…

 

Alone in the silence of a concert hall's sacred space,

A composer and an orchestra dance and lust they embrace.

Melodies and harmonies intertwine, a flaming affair bursts and unfurls,

Their bodies in longing and breath a short, in euphony they at last swirl.

 

At passion’s height, both nearly appeased, 

In a quaver’s moment, they conceive.   

Struck, thoughts speed and flash, « what to do? »

In desperation, he chooses not to believe.

The composer hastily flees, never again to be seen.

 

A revolting departure, a departure that grieves.

Left behind is the orchestra, yearning, bereaved…

 

Hidden in shameful remorse for a long melancholic breve of sorrow,

The quietened orchestra has nestled an illegitimate creation.

Feared is a haunting elegy of lost tomorrows…

 

Many dusks following, in that hallowed concert hall’s sacred space, 

Both balcony and mezzanine fill with an eerie hush.

The gathered crowd, colossal, whispers tales of disgrace,

Eager to see and mock the orchestra’s humiliated blush,

Ready to hear then curse this illicit creation about to be shared.

 

In the twilight of the peculiar, where oddities find their niche,

Beneath the crescent moon’s baleful glow,

By dozens they gather as they sow,

The musicians with visions of music each.

 

Below in the pit, instruments tune, screech, enhance.

Is wept in broken unison a sad romance.

Maestro finally takes place, in a cloak of dusk, 

Baton in hand, raised high it must.

 

The crowd is suddenly hushed. 

The musicians’ hearts pounding in rush.

 

Before this now silent and disdaining throng, 

The orchestra prays, whimpers, frightened and forlorn:  

At tonight’s performance, a bastard song, a Strange Symphony, will be born.