The Last tune

The epilogue so to speak.

Suit and tie,
Wing tips,
voice box,
Warm, loose.
Sweaty palms and steady thought.
Straight on through.
down the hall the master pieces that hang,
Amadeus, Sebastian, Taichovsky-
glared down
In unison, their heads nod.
Seems I will join them after my final orchestral
piece.
Stage.
I am looking on a far horizon-
Where the sun meets,
And the earth ends-
It is there with my boarding pass
that I take a trip amongst the clouds and sail
On to watch here,
And never again to interact.
The strings....
Yes.
They all flawlessly aim to soothe with perfect diction,
Without the hoarseness of horns,and the violence of drums.
Down and up,
Sideways
Back and forth- as if we were on a slalom
sky high dodging skyscrapers-
A beautiful song,
led by gentleness-
I chose violins as the guide of cellos,
Without they are wild horses in crowded streets.
Monitored,
They are exceptional pilots as they whisk through bars-
Soon enough, my carcass would be again as
I birthed from the sands and sparse rocks
Of the Arabian terrains-
If you were to venture there,
Still,
You would hear of my musical echo-
Muffled and deep-
You would still near the best of my tune
Through travel and torment,
hill and slope-
As my last mime of signaling the quartet
Of the nearing end,
A chariot rode to the isle and called my seat-
The music slowed then halted.
Every one stood-
From the rich accountants, to the conniving wife and the priceless maids who's ,
employer allowed her leisure for the night with borrowed jewels-
Yet heard'nt a thing-
Familiar....
I wave,
Like some bone headed pageantry' as she
falsely smiles for the victory of what count?
My suit burned to the sight of robe,
And a halo soon fixated my head as I stepped into the chariot-
Its driver wasn't of leather or hooded,
He was glee-
His reins were of crucifixes shimmering in gold-
A breath of sigh-
Had he been cloaked and grim,
I'd plea for another selection to buy time-
maybe I will now see the legends of lavender waterfalls,
Milk and honey,
Endless days-
Or women who play harps in the clouds as you venture-
Or slumber in hills until the day-
For whatever sight,
The audience loved my last magical
Piece.

Author's Note

Just ramblings- I do not aim for perfection, but for release only.