Notes of Daylight
Never was there an image so lovely
A sound as sweet
As the musician of death
Filling the frigid, falling winter night with the song of the dead
Features veiled; a mere silhouette
Ironic how something so very beautiful;
So mesmerizingly pure; nearly feminine
Could birth from such a beast
Insane and broken you’d almost pity him
As you’d pity the souls strung to his violin
For human hair
Produces such a sound
Which is far more euphonious than that of any
Horse
Something about the music that made you cry
Cried itself.
Each note a silver tear
Flooding the darkness;
Kissing the moon
It wept
Never had a nocturnal being desired the light
Or the sky;
Blue not black
Her hair
Flaming locks of fire
She was the sun
The morning in his violin
It wept
Notes
Of Daylight
A sound as sweet
As the musician of death
Filling the frigid, falling winter night with the song of the dead
Features veiled; a mere silhouette
Ironic how something so very beautiful;
So mesmerizingly pure; nearly feminine
Could birth from such a beast
Insane and broken you’d almost pity him
As you’d pity the souls strung to his violin
For human hair
Produces such a sound
Which is far more euphonious than that of any
Horse
Something about the music that made you cry
Cried itself.
Each note a silver tear
Flooding the darkness;
Kissing the moon
It wept
Never had a nocturnal being desired the light
Or the sky;
Blue not black
Her hair
Flaming locks of fire
She was the sun
The morning in his violin
It wept
Notes
Of Daylight