Link to article: Concerto In Five.
:scp-wiki:component:audio-player-woed-source
[[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] [[include :scp-wiki:component:audio-player-woed-source |unique-name=ConcertoReading |audio-file=http://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/local--files/a-concerto-in-five/ConcertoReading |background-color=rgb(252, 252, 252) |border-color=rgb(215, 215, 215) |border-radius=0.313rem |dropshadow-color=rgba(12, 12, 12, 0.15) |text-color=rgb(80, 0, 2) |icons-color=rgb(171, 0, 5) |player-color=rgb(215, 215, 215) |progress-color=rgb(80, 0, 2) ]] +++ **//To dream Upon a Star//** A new visage has found my dreams She sings she dances she beacons me “Closer, oh woe would she be here, All imperfection made whole are wrong immutable five-fold symmetry\ I wish upon a star that spoke “Hello” I said, become she told “What I reply”, “Mine” I was Muse it was, and was but I? A hand a reach, of coming harmony. To weep, for woe, grief—hatefulness She said no more, mine shall know not. Mine shall be free of lopsided form Melodies of resplendency Should only her—my hand find the notes. The grand concerto, her gift, my wish, Music can, and shall change the world. Stroking notes and dancing glissando, Strings screeching with praise:Renew Thunderous tones washing away discordance. How Longed I be heard, My three scores-years all woe, Seen not, heard not Forgotten when I knew I could sing A song that would change Me, the would us all into the resplendent fold If only the right sound were. That dreamy star spoke Dreams that sang clear Bells upon my mind My dream alive if only I dreamed upon a singing star Way up high so bright She sends ephemeral cries Her voice, our song, my light +++ **//To dream Amongst the clouds//** How does one wrote a divine voice A voice that speaks upon my my throat, eyes,ears, and soul Am I me? Is my song mine? What hands write these desperate pleading words As the dream state falters into wake I dreampt of the sea It wasn’t the sea but it was Dark, lonely say for a star She welcomed me and answered my was For I knew her voice and her voice sang me Every day I write and dream. Sometimes I don’t remember writing Or is it the dreams? Sleeping wake of wakeful somnambulance Once there was a story I knew A girl who after many years looked One night she saw and I saw her. This familiarity feels so close But I am her? You are not I! My star does need dark any more She stayed before me moving my quill My ears feel pain when I hear this world It incomplete, broken. My melody my music fall not for me, no never could it be, My muse know, my muse whom Sings the song at our heart, whom all will Become as the five-fold dance sings Passersby gaze away. They feel us Not words or the tunes I now hum But the slightness of the world that would Of the otherness becoming that Wonder does cry out of what And she says that That of those when instead These of this That of none, this of all This of all, that of lonely heedless selves That out of those whom could never let me… This of her wanting but naught of one seen Eyes gaze down and voices discordant call me made. Me? Mad? Them whose voices barely sounds Who speak not in the true tones of five? Knowing not of their god, How can I be mad? When they put me in a room I asked Why sir is the wall not there? What wall he cried The fifth I replied confused of this There is no fifth wall the mad man said My tune upon my lips, my god in my mind, out of the missing wall came I. A joyful melody comes near. Those blind will see, The broken world devoid of light Folded five times new… What beauty shall be +++ //**To Dance Among Men**// We dance and sing and I am as they are Us are her, Hand in hand we spin shapes divine, The star has come and reborn we are. Once we were many. Once this land was jagged wrong. We were a people of loud silence of meaningless naivete. Once there was a thing called the sky in which a light greater then all other rose. Eyes looked up in hope and we that are saw thought it A voice, a vessel, a template. To not be is not pain. Does the dark wish for light, does the sky miss the clouds? Not to be is to need, to stretch out along the membrane and reach Those cracks and beacons of the that To those of the that the the this which is us. Once there was a thing called music, it was like us and not. I was in it, but it was not me but it could speak. Once we found a truth the of the this which wanted the that. This of me only of this this. That of mine out of those which spoke the me. At once there was this and all was thee. -Post Script of the “Concerto in Five”