Old Poem

The Symphony

Soft slow symphonic sounds of soft color,
Creep into the ever so creaky corners of our minds,
The chord of colorful, wistful, white sound is heard,
Full of vibrant, vigilant lifelike words that cannot be spoken,
The music plays powerful, potent pitches of sound,
That crawl deeply over the newly formed bumps on the skin,
It brings a sense that is unknown to the sensor.
The regulator, moves many melodious notes at one pace,
Then faster and faster! Does he move with the tempo which he creates.
The hollow heart of the symphony is heard. Once; twice, then silence.