a sweeter song

A sonnet for English class :)


I am the floor beneath the dancer's feet,
The shining, vast expanse under her toes
Where melody and sweetest motion meet-
I'll be the stem so you can be the rose.

I'll hold you up and watch you from below,
Your beauty as you twirl and spin and soar.
The greatest gift that I could e'er bestow,
Each precious step you take to give support.

For anywhere you go I won't be far-
A firm foundation never leaves you 'lone.
If you choreographed your way into the stars,
I'd compose a sweeter song to bring you home.

So rest your weary feet on solid ground,
And dance where trust and faithfulness are found.

garden of sound: part two

Everything around me is quiet, and the atmosphere still, but inside I feel the opposite of peace. Sitting on the stage, waiting for the concert to begin, I feel every extreme of nature. My heart pounds like rain in a thunderstorm, yet a bright light washes over me like the sun. The air is filled with anticipation and nervous energy, like lightning about to strike. My palms are sweaty as I grasp my flute, nestled among the other musicians, and yet I feel the chill of winter. The familiar anxiety rolls over me like black clouds roll through the sky, slowly churning into a tornado of all my fears, gaining speed and reaching, reaching towards the ground, towards destruction.

I am sitting in the eye of a hurricane. Chaos surrounds me on every side, yet no one else can see it because all is still. My eyes like anchors are fixed permanently on the conductor as I wait for the approaching waves. The slightest movement of his hand will cause all the world to burst to life with the crash of drums, the tsunami that sends me spinning into a swirling sea.

Waiting and watching, I take a deep breath and swallow my fears. They travel all the way through my body, feeling their way through every corner but finding no way out. Trapped, the noise builds inside until I close my eyes and try to think of a new song. I know that the music can take me to another place.

Tighter, tighter I close my eyes until the noise begins to fade, and my lungs are filled with a sweet fragrance. I look around and find myself in a garden, only faintly aware of the symphony still around me as the stage and audience melt away. I am in a garden of sound, surrounded by life and song. I hear the music of leaves scattering from the treetops and floating on the gentle breeze. The warmth of the sun and the fragrance of the flowers fill my lungs with a sweet melody and my heart is calm.

A million distinct sounds fill the air, and in my dreamlike state I hear each instrument. Each so different, I watch them burst into bloom, filling the world with their colors. The brass is the soil underneath me, a foundation from which flowers can grow. Roots break through the earth with the laughter of the bassoon and oboe, and then soar on the wind with my flute.

Suddenly, the notes I am hearing are coming from my own lips, travelling through my flute and following the movements of my fingers over the keys. I am transported back to the real world, standing upon the stage that haunted me for so long. But this time I do not turn away from anxiety’s millions of watching eyes. Rather, I invite them inside. I continue to play my song, so that they can see my garden too, because I love the flowers, and I think that maybe love is more powerful than fear.

garden of sound: part one

The excitement before a concert.

All is still.

Sound has deceased,

Filling the air with anticipation

And nervous energy.

Waiting,

A million eyes watch intently.
Silently

As the conductor raises his wand.

Then

Bang!

The crash of drums

As the symphony begins.

Musicians follow the conductor's every movement.
Breathing in and breathing out,
Air rushes across each mouthpiece,
Through each twisted tunnel.

Fingers fly across the keys,
Skillful and precise,
Hitting each pitch at the correct time
Just as they had rehearsed.

A great diversity of sounds come together

To create a colorful garden.

The brass lay a foundation.

Thick and rich,

Soil underneath the ground.

The snickers of the oboe and bassoon

Cause the sound to break into laughter,

Break through the earth.

The sparkling trills of a piccolo

Soar above the ground.

Saxophones, flutes, and clarinets

Instruments of the wind.

Walking together in a garden,

Audience and musicians

Are mummified-

Trapped within the layers of sound.

surfaces

"The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms, it has its tides and in its depths it has its pearls too." ~Van Gogh

"There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth." ~Friedrich Nietzsche

the collision

I need imagination like I need oxygen. It is the spark of passion inside me that keeps me moving, most alive in the collision of the real world and a dream.

My imagination comes to life when I listen to music, and when the music spills out my fingers, synchronized with my breath into the flute. The notes on the page are footsteps, leading me to a different place through the shapes and colors and movements of sound.

My imagination comes to life when I read a book, twenty-six letters arranged and rearranged to tell a million different stories. Underneath the covers I wrap myself in a new perspective, trapped between the sheets. Imagination weaves together a fabric of ideas using letters and words and sentences to form paragraphs and chapters and eventually a library of infinite potential.

My imagination comes to life when I spend time in nature, as the sky stretches on without limit and the trees wrap me in their embrace. Layered leaves pattern the ground with their shadows as sunlight breaks through the deciduous dome. I look at the endless sky and towering trees and see that the world is so much bigger than me, so full with dreams.

My imagination comes to life when I am doing the things that I love. It takes me to the places where I long to be and enhances the places where I am. It shows me that everything is so much bigger than my perception of it. There are so many places to see, ideas to explore, and dreams to dream. I know that I am alive because my imagination is, and it won't let me give up. Where possibilities are endless, so is hope.

i wonder if

I wonder if you ever heard the birds
Sing softly through your window as you slept.
I wonder if you ever heard the words
Pierced silently my soul whene'er I wept.

I thought that if you'd ever seen the sun,
You'd notice that my world had turned to gray.
I thought that when the world around me spun,
You'd have some light to turn my night to day.

I wonder if you ever saw the stars
Gleam brilliantly across a raven sky.
I wonder if you ever saw my scars;
I wonder if you knew the reason why.

I hope for beauty in all that you see-
I hope that maybe one day you'll see me.