Consequential Gift
My fingers melt as they pass through the forceful mist. Sifting between the strings, oozing into the bronze etched surface. Filling the cavity to the brim with projected memories, and a dissonant, melody. Sinking into a crescendo of cacophonic entropy. Pleading for the alteration of sound, whilst writhing in discontentment. The scene is torn in twain, shredding indiscriminately as each strand separates. The vehemence of solitude, and self preservation, consists of bitterness only.
Choices asymptotically approach the present, building on one another. In final representation through a fragmented series of notes, a faint glimmer of hope resides. Bricks of complacency surround a dying fire. If only for a spark, I would recall your name.
How would it sound, I wonder. If I played for you, would it resonate?
