Composer

He walks across an empty stage composing his life of sorrow.

Upon his stage within a cage,

he fences a rapier bow-

Surrounded by walls of demisemiquavers,

dreaming tremolos.

He walks through empty streets,

a mess of scales.

Yet on his stage lay empty seats-

and everything he yells just fails.

He plays “Hi”s in pianissimo,

And yells for god in Fortissimo!

So he walks across an empty stage commanding melodies of lives-

yet the cheers won’t ever come-

who’d see the man who’s life‘s in rive-s!

He cries for some,

and tries for others,

he has not family of brothers.

A man so focused on a sheet.

A man who’s death is written in legato frowns with sharp spiccato mourns.

Now hung a sunken fleet,

Whose cascade leave not much to bourn.

Thats when the cheers do come- Yet stand his stage no longer empty.

He’s not upon the stage no more.

He‘s on another stage where he sits glooming,

over that which he now sees to be-

a simple paper, not life.