Sonata in B(laspheme) Major
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Moonlight Sonata drifts through the open window;
Sinister passages of haunting beauty,
borne upon the night’s argent gossamer;
The raven and the rowan
perched on a sill,
the only other audience to this performance.
Fragments of Orff
blaring melodies, destined to be recycled endlessly;
I whisper a prayer to Dionysus,
forgetting momentarily that wine and roses
music and idyllic bliss
are taboo in my homeland.
the way they created their respective autumns –
one bleak and desolate, deciduous;
the other vibrant and tender, sensuous –
makes me believe
more in Vivaldi
and less in god.