Solitary Symphonies

Solitary Symphonies

 

 

Through the quiet of the night walked three men;

Three they were, and a hundred patient trees, who

Watched them try to pour fresh colours

Into the quiescent melancholy within the greens.

Melodic phrases they hummed with strange avidity;

Songs which they sang full of life;

But the night was already quiet, cold and dead.

The lonesome grass reeds embraced their music

Like the cheek of a mother welcomes her tears,

And somehow thanked the three strange men

In a voice soaked in a painful inaudibility.

The men were alone, aloof from the deceptions

The world, out there, offers aplenty with a smile;

And so were these trees, who watched the world

Burn to ashes, and the creations of the Almighty

Soil their souls and the souls of others,

Reducing to dust too heavy for the Earth to carry.

But that night was the night they had longed for

For that night, the men who remembered the trees

Were men who sang songs, gifting a soporific euphony;

Men who had flutes in their hands, and not axes.