Symphony Reinterpreted
Nothing.
Then. Something, barely more than nothing. A perceivable movement. Microscopic. A collision, a crash, an explosion. Smaller. Subsequently. Larger. Ripples.
The peace, damaged. Motion. Back and Forth. This way and that way. For there was no up and no down. Not yet. The universe, tries to heal, forces these motions back, toward the stillness. But it moves past the stillness. In another direction, hoping for freedom. The peace fights back, wanting the stillness again.
More collisions. Gasses. Solids. Liquids. Are all that matter. They join forces. Breaking the peace. At first, it looks chaotic, but soon you see patterns, predictable changes in the tones of the fight. Some stay low to bombard, with slow steady pounding. Wave after wave, marking time. Some fly up to flank the foe with high fluttering distractions. But the main force is right up the middle with melodic accuracy.
The army’s percussive march lends rhythm to the fight. Then brass, order reinforcements. The nocked strings twang when released. Would wind blow, sending the aerial assault through the grasses and the reeds? Without a doubt. The whole event orchestrated precisely, full measure of attention paid to the company. The frequency of each step, each raised hand, even when to breath, determined by the Captain. He stands conducting the arrangement of forces, bridging the pieces together until the whole ensemble is performing as a single harmonious unit.
The main forces command the emotions, feeling. Dischords, with sharp stabbing attacks, lull into flat, dissonant melancholies. Different key parts, section off the main courses. Others, accidentally, keep you off guard. Some of the individuals will inevitability slow to the grave, but when they can combine their strength together. Each placing their own values with those of others, producing amplitude in strength. Escalating the inevitable, until the full measure has culminated into this single last crescendo of overwhelming magnitude, resonating through-out the whole rest of the conflict. Overtaking the silence in a production envied by the Gods!
Like all events, weither or not of divine perfection, must end. The fight is sheer, and movement angular. So the beautiful fight, is never fair but it's always vectorious. Even the after the final score, the last of the troops remain striding even after their comrades have come to rest. The stillness is regaining its’ incorporeal line. Peace settles on the band. All movement concluded. All that remain are echoes.
Ripples. Larger. Subsequently. Smaller. A collision, a crash, an explosion. Microscopic. A perceivable movement. Something, barely more than nothing. Then.
Nothing.
Then. Something, barely more than nothing. A perceivable movement. Microscopic. A collision, a crash, an explosion. Smaller. Subsequently. Larger. Ripples.
The peace, damaged. Motion. Back and Forth. This way and that way. For there was no up and no down. Not yet. The universe, tries to heal, forces these motions back, toward the stillness. But it moves past the stillness. In another direction, hoping for freedom. The peace fights back, wanting the stillness again.
More collisions. Gasses. Solids. Liquids. Are all that matter. They join forces. Breaking the peace. At first, it looks chaotic, but soon you see patterns, predictable changes in the tones of the fight. Some stay low to bombard, with slow steady pounding. Wave after wave, marking time. Some fly up to flank the foe with high fluttering distractions. But the main force is right up the middle with melodic accuracy.
The army’s percussive march lends rhythm to the fight. Then brass, order reinforcements. The nocked strings twang when released. Would wind blow, sending the aerial assault through the grasses and the reeds? Without a doubt. The whole event orchestrated precisely, full measure of attention paid to the company. The frequency of each step, each raised hand, even when to breath, determined by the Captain. He stands conducting the arrangement of forces, bridging the pieces together until the whole ensemble is performing as a single harmonious unit.
The main forces command the emotions, feeling. Dischords, with sharp stabbing attacks, lull into flat, dissonant melancholies. Different key parts, section off the main courses. Others, accidentally, keep you off guard. Some of the individuals will inevitability slow to the grave, but when they can combine their strength together. Each placing their own values with those of others, producing amplitude in strength. Escalating the inevitable, until the full measure has culminated into this single last crescendo of overwhelming magnitude, resonating through-out the whole rest of the conflict. Overtaking the silence in a production envied by the Gods!
Like all events, weither or not of divine perfection, must end. The fight is sheer, and movement angular. So the beautiful fight, is never fair but it's always vectorious. Even the after the final score, the last of the troops remain striding even after their comrades have come to rest. The stillness is regaining its’ incorporeal line. Peace settles on the band. All movement concluded. All that remain are echoes.
Ripples. Larger. Subsequently. Smaller. A collision, a crash, an explosion. Microscopic. A perceivable movement. Something, barely more than nothing. Then.
Nothing.