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  • Battlefields I have known
    burning violins
    Seeds planted by Mom and Dad
    waiting quietly for reply
    simply a register and a line of bars
    remains as melting keys to the composers innocence
    remembered the black/ white ivory's, but not them screaming

    The Cello's halo shone
    struck in exploding rings of irridescence
    boys who might not even had their first kiss
    Never heard a thing
    Never knew of a musicians life
    Never understood what life was
    Read the score the way I was taught
    practiced chords of phrasing in the mechanisms descending

    'I' killer
    making my music
    so no one hears
    no one remained
    no punched tickets saved
    just a classical young slave
    pointed towards and left upon the stage

    Ostinato blood dripping notes
    parts of what used to be men left as a warning
    who wished they were better hid
    while pianos struck lightening
    entire villages burning in nocturne

    I was never just a soldier
    no introductions needed
    I was what was left of what remained
    little boy dreams caprice
    playing flute like riffles
    drums taught to pound everything it saw
    Baboons with bassoons
    violas so viscous listeners were made mucous
    so were the concertina bombs we played and applauded
    distance discord as sounds unmade what all the lessons were for

    look at how they stand in Ovation's -- unspeaking
    little trinkets measured what was war worth
    colored ribbons-- worn out metals-- below
    death's laughter upon every written score
    hearing what was meter born
    Alaeoteric adagios
    Harmonies we swore
    Timbre detonations
    Composers of everything wrong
    These were some of the clothes I have torn

    That is why I had to go
    leave Renaissance timing baroque
    hide without melody
    find a place
    I couldn't stay
    prayed to Chance for living remedy

    as for
    timing
    family
    love
    grace
    life
    ????
    They were suggestions of some other rondo history
    misunderstood instruments made to long by to many
    Ideas that murder is just a symphonic parabolic game
    I was made to play.. Play Hard
    wanting desparately a 1st seat in a traveling orchestra
    until I finally had to pay.

    h
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