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Unconscious Hours

Up high on the stage,
Where hours melt into minutes,
And minutes into seconds,
And seconds into nothing,
Where music eats up time
And takes shape,
A concerto to timelessness,
A settling into nothing,
An ode to the peace,
A voice from the silence,
A delineation of the infinite,
A rousing from the silent air,
A cathartic murmuring,
An earthly response,
A time traveled journey,
Along the path of the bewildered,
The arrival of the unconscious,
To the shores of the conscious,
Where music is a dream embodied,
But the dream is still a fleeting moment,
And the performance is a lifetime
Melted down to that fleeting moment.

Préféré par...
Autres oeuvres par Robert L. Martin...



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