ConfidereThis symphonic poem was inspired
by two people. Both are very special to me. The first person is the source
of most of my past inspiration. The second is Paul- the form in which he
wrote the symphonic poem for Standing Stone touched me deeply. His epic
style moved me to create my own epic style.
Confidere, or a Simple Understanding of Modern Society and Complex Ideas wherein: "LOVE" Movement One: "I Want Him To"
I want him to send me a music box With a song by his father about his mother and his mother, And just a note explaining That I might understand this song Too familiar to us all.
I want to send him some musical notes With a song for him and not for his father or his mother But just for him. Hiking in sandals, who else would try? Perhaps the stream understands why, Lapping at our feet. He loves water.
He wants to send me a lullaby at two a.m. But he asks me to sing it, Timid and afraid that his voice isn't good enough, That the tree of his family has grown so tall and strong It has shaded him in I won't let him give in.
I want to show him A box of paints And ask him to paint me away. He could let me hear pictures. Intellectual feasting Under the harvesting moon. Time draws near But there are no watches in this field, Because Nature has overgrown even the slightest trace Of the most ancient sundial.
His father rediscovers it And says it is our ancestors who put it there. I say it was the Romans, though to me it is the same. Blue eyes blond hair sandals son wears no leather, climbs to a resting place to see the big picture. From above, he asks me to look up, And says that from a distance I am Beautiful, but not so much as when I am standing with him Together alone.
His father wrote that there was an eclipse. We were too busy with modern inconveniences and something called satellites Which may also define a destructive force of the universe, Coming to take our lives away. His father asks him about that often, And then he looks to me for the answer, I show him poetry as defense against this weather And the stars do not respond until our eyes are true: Green intertwining cold ice melting blue.
Colors and visions at times become one Creating roads and paths to follow. I choose paths, with me he agrees, Sometimes we make our own. Our fires from deadwood we burn They start again, old life we churn. Nothing in our hearts will go to waste.
His father stays with her alone in his home. We camp outside and look above and wonder, At the heavens and at his room And see a visible rainbow path Connecting that man to his home to our earth, And we are part of it.
Some people worship his father. He is not a Lord, He deals with angels, But to do so we will all lose so much. he has shown us with so many What love is. To not have that, but to understand it Burns like the deadwood In the ashes it churns.
His father draws the curtains, From a canteen floweth wine, Flowers, and angels still present with us My music box has yet to unwind.
Movement Two: "Crossing Hands"
Crossing hands crisscross the light Moon upon us, falling night. We do not have to rise, But the horses will run. Playful he seems, Curious am I, But the wonder of love Flickers from his eye.
Falling upon us is a dying star, Yet we see its birthplace ubiquitous still, A nebula, colors like our eyes Locked and intertwining A field for our love to till.
Into the garden we root in the dirt We take some from the wound Of his father's hurt. It is no promise but in his son he believes The trees and the forest shan't die, Though the garden of lilies do cry.
Uneven metric metronomes unwind My music box rhythm, My lover my rhyme. All within me is from somebody else, Each particle in connection With those we still love. We are part of that distant star Cosmically being a trip to far. We allow his father to journey alone On his trip On his path To his Standing Stone.
I say that I worry, Love says "Father is fine, Forget about him And finish my wine." For promise forsake me A conscious doth not, Grapes surrounding Visions abound. Skyshot.
Movement Three: "Skyshot"
Skyshot upon us, Destruction at ends. Searing words, Father Painful Amends.
We talk of origins We feel our beliefs Forgetting the man At Stone with his grief.
We silence after breathing Heavily through the night As morning rises, He is there as solid As his father's monument He prayed at that stone.
We keep the firelight, As his father rushes in We ask not where he was, We know where he's been. We wrapped in blankets He still in plain clothes. He fixes dinner He insists upon this.
We enjoy laughter Guilty upstairs Freezing below us The man who still cares. He watches the storm pass, He lets out a sigh. He blesses our love Gives us kisses Goodbye.
We pack with a purpose A sadness But love. Hands in each other's, His mother's... A dove.
To be on our own Father, survive alone. Yet still, They both insist to me That is how it should be.
Movement Four: "Together We Walk"
Together we walk Unknown purpose at hand. Midnight sun follows. Give way to great dark I compose him something He prepares dye He sings, I weave We dip and cover our hands Red like blood Like birth Like love. Blood like everything Starting once more.
From his father, a feast, Father understands, He now walks with a purpose He has calm demands. His soul is at rest, His body protecting us Two parting, too living For all to embrace. That is his nature.
We represent the returns of these natives, The bringers of love, These Poets of ages. That we feel In melding eyes Music box surprise.
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