An angel sits in the dark playing the harp like her hands are on fire, effortlessly weaving her fingers through those nylon strings,
secure, yet light enough, not to break the mahogany frames. The beautifully composed melody speaks the voice of the angel and summons sweet heaven to earth. His heedful ears listen to the echoing sounds and her harp responds even to the slightest flick of her finger, brings him to tears as the music touches his soul and his heart turns into mush but he may never get to play the last nodes of their love song, if love is the way the sun plays the golden harp of the earth, with millions of strings at once as it sets and lights the horizon but never brightens the small room in his head as a little dictator playing the strings of his instrument that are perfectly tuned but all sounds and poetry are yet dead-headed ,inviting all of the monsters he had befriend to dance to the dead note barks while he only visually inhales the sun, until he gets eyelid ink spots. Mournful songs start to play from above, the strings ever sound sad, but the weeping harp still plays bittersweet notes of peace, compare to his strings not even too loose for love to become flat nor too high strung for the heart can break. This everlasting beauty and sadness sound so pristine that he can only respond through needles and ink. Terrified of his true form, he hides himself behind the ink. It's the most profound of scars, aches and pain but it is never a canvas because true scars are left in the depths of his mind and memory of winter he won't forget. Her own nocturnal melodies can only make her fall asleep, without understanding his art. Without this art to identity, she could turn his world backwards in him. That snow globe he toys--If only he knows what kind of world he controls. His strings are not to be repaired but his heart that was impaired from a love song he cannot play. The rocker on the stage gives his emotions. Listen as the moshing begins and it's not safe for no man. His feelings will never fool to make your heart run. The song starts from vibration to movements as the body listens, and that is when he realizes that the snow globe is actually upside down while his head is banging. He roars at the top of his lungs ruling the dead of the night ,then the angel wakes up from her sleep. In a warm night breez, the full moon smiles is as pleased at her sight of such beauty you could never live long enough to describe, as her torch slowly lights up by the fire of his music. But where is the harp of the most thrilling sound? The moon looks down to point another angel of music, but all she knows about him is his music strikes her heart, so she joins in to create such infinite melody and harmony, only comes from the harp at midnight. She never regrets to stay awake from her dreams because reality is now better to hear those screams, where love lasts endlessly, and the sound of the harp stops only to start again.
