The Colors of Music

Nerves wrack my hands, my feet

On plush red carpet; cold grey windows,

The drums for off-kilter rain,

Cast ghoulish light on the faces in the pews

And I take my seat.

I think to myself, what if today I was not

A musician, but an artist, painting for you

The colors of music. I look down and see

In front of me my faithful companion

And realize the colors of music solidify into the curves and dips

Of my cello: the warmest brown

The streaks of red and honey-wood tones

Resemble a place close to the heart;

Close to home.

I draw the first notes and think

This isn’t music, this is art for ears,

Painting the colors of music on the canvas of your mind

And the blue steel strings they sing

Of faraway places and faraway things;

Suddenly you’re battling a storm-tossed sea

Riding the waves; relentless waves of fathomless blue,

And then you’re dancing through the leaves

Dappled endlessly with rays of sunshine hue.

The colours of music wrap around the audience

Like a patient serpent, entrancing its prey

And painting vivid scenes and livid dreams

Beneath their eyelids; I continue to play.

They travel through violet skies with diamond eyes,

Skies splashed pink with an orange spray

Russet and gold; I continue to play.

Unfolding, slowly, like a pale yellow flower

The melody builds -- I can feel its power --

Until it retreats, a meandering brook

Or a springtime bud climbing through the mud,

Dances away on auburn falling leaves

Leaving a sigh like the exit of autumn.

There is no silence, only absence of sound

The echoes fading, the trance just breaking

And applause smatters against the grey windows.

You notice the colour of music has come to stay

And in your mind where once it held sway

It has turned to mere memories

Of pale blue forget-me-nots

Nestled like a crown on a head of grass.

And you leave at last, taking only this token of your mind,

And its fleeting glory.