Where's the orchestra?

The above title is one of my favorite Billy Joel songs and it seemed fitting today. Welcome to my brand new “Blog” for 2006. I’ve recently come off of a tumultuous year in 2005 and have decided to start fresh and new. I started writing poetry for the first time in my life in 2005 so for my first posting I offer you one of my favorites. This came to me while I was ironing a shirt and before I knew it, the words starting flowing incredibly easily. If anyone else would like to join the orchestra, I look forward to hearing from you. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Solitary Symphony

"Life’s concert stage is bare, the curtain has been drawn,
What’s left only empty chairs, all the orchestra gone.
Ensemble of family, friends, colleagues and lovers so dear,
Silently echo the music that once played here.

The percussion of friends absent with lives of their own,
Spending hours at vocations before retiring to home.
Nurturing their children, making memories ever clear,
Residing in dwellings much too far away, never near.

The sounding brass of ones family fading away,
Intermittent memories of their music never to stay.
Vague recollections, father’s voice blowing like a horn,
Mother’s lullaby still heard over the blasting throng.

The woodwinds of past loves, once held dear, now missing,
The absence of my lovely who seems heaven’s blessing.
All enter and exit from this world’s great auditorium,
Willowing flutes in the shadows, dying in memoriam.

The tinkling cymbals of the heels of man’s best friend,
Elder now, only sleeping, dreams of the shepherd within.
Soft bells of time, ravaging his frail aging body,
Until the notes of his soul pass through the main lobby.

Strings have mirrored all of these with violins and harps,
Some with pitch perfect, others flat, many sharp.
Clefs played while working and making a living,
The greedy producer taking and rarely giving.

The conductors hands lowered, the down beat withdrawn,
Pressed lapels and tucked tails, he returns to Avalon.
His maestro countenance, once needed by the troubadour,
God lives here no longer, he has abandoned the theatre.

Until in dark spotlights, one stands, strings torn in twain,
A cello, lone bass humming, where once treble reined.
The musicians have grown silent and what is left, only me,
Alone before a vanished audience, a silent, solitary symphony."

TAH