Prokofiev Symphony #5A Poem by Dana AlsamsamA story of a musician
He walks from his humble
Apartment on Tenth Street Still recalling a nebulous hint of a melody That he'd heard in his dream last night. The homeless woman asks him For change, like he is anyone else. No passerby takes a second glance. Nobody can feel the lucent music Pining from beneath his fingertips, Begging to be released Into the cocoon of Symphony Hall, Into the mason jars of peoples souls, To light their inspired journeys: The soundtrack of a city night. In the Hall he changes Into black: sleek, sophisticated, And we stare at him, mesmerized With moons of the city lights Stuck, quavering, like a reflection In the water of young eyes. We lean into the music, Breathe the Russian Symphony in a trance, And the musician becomes everything, Fills every space between the disks In our backs with breaths of beats. The concert ends, the moons in our eyes Fade, invite the city lights to replace Their reflections as they travel another journey. And the musician walks a block away From the theater, to his humble apartment On Tenth Street, once again, Unrecognizable. Moons of music eclipsed By ignorance, but the corners Of his mouth turn up at the Melody of the Prokofiev, and the magic In his conductors baton. He passes A homeless woman with a cart, And realizes he is just like everyone else.
© 2013 Dana AlsamsamReviews
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StatsAuthorDana AlsamsamChicago, ILAbout"my brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness." i dance, write and play violin. i'm studying english and training in dance in chicago. i like spooky things, red lipstick, caffeine, punk/indi.. more..Writing
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