Death's Concert

Scream like death has claimed your hope,
Since you’re the person who’ll walk the rope.
Cry boldly since if you fall it is the end.
So don’t look down or you’ll descend.

The old black violin is starting to bow.
And in your mind there is only one foe.
The moth is rising as the raven,
The cherry blossoms have no haven.

The black violin is now as old as time,
It is just as the song and the rhyme.
Where pain is empty to the point of sublime.
It’s after heaven has judged each cent and dime.

A girl watches, as the violin plays alone,
Her eyes are sharp and wise as if she’s sat at a throne.
Alone with worn soles, she eyes the violin.
She knows the world and each of its sins.

The dark old wood that she saw being taken,
The strings are now dull and are forever shaken.
The notes are obsidian and addictive.
Caressingly romantic: solemnly restrictive.

Each note rings in the moth’s ears,
Like condemned bells ring in fears.
The girl knows it must not stop,
But she wants it to play from the top.

To play its sad yet sweet melodies anew,
Make the black onyx seas an azure blue.
So that barren orange lands may be torn,
Making the emerald fields and plains born.

A single black tear cascades down,
Taking the girl into the water to drown.
It’s taking her under, killing the soul inside.
But the violin is new; each note begins to slide.

A withered woman lies on the ground,
Her eyes just as wise, forever profound.
Now the eagle chases the moth in the sky,
And the violin still plays but it seems to cry.

Its melodies ring with a round golden tune,
From which human and animal alike aren’t immune.
The woman closes her eyes and sleep takes hold.
The world is gray but not as cold.