Work Text:
The first time, it was a test
Ten years thence
Since dawn came and sun rose
Once a fermata
Conductor forgotten, music reached its close
Ten quiet years, but this time
He paid—a private box
Of course
He took his seat as silence fell
The stage before him animated
Costumes swirled
Figures twirled
Music faded and dissipated
Bows drowned in thunderous applause
A single evening, a mere pastime
Outside opera, off stage
There were no rules for goodness—
Or evil
Such beauty did not mark God’s grace
Hideousness was not His hate
His only curse was born of self
His own foolish misdeeds
Impossible
To
Conceal
Behind a mask
His face remained
Unseen
The show was over
The curtain fell
He followed the crowd
Returned to hell
But
A single, delicate thread
Lingered
Calling him gently
Distant echo of something tired
Old and worn
Not quite dead or gone
Perhaps
Maybe
He could hear it
Once
More
The second time, a different show
He leaned in close
Music whet his appetite
Some mere faint yearning
Murky ache
Briefly stirring
Caressing his mind
He was only remembering
Everything was fine
It did not let go
Inside his head
Awake at night
Colours formerly dead
Began to take flight
Such sweet, saccharine music
Luring him to sleep
Grasping at desperate comfort
In cold, lonely dark
The third time, he was accompanied
Music by his side
He marked each detail
Exacted every tone
The abused vibrato
Now slurred staccato
Fool! That should have been pizzicato!
The resolution far too sharp
The timbre—all wrong
Had they never learned to breathe?
More than muscle memory
Inhaling fresh breeze
A familiar dance
He had once
Lived and breathed
Standing now
A path
Before him
Clear
Shadows stretched
Beckoned
He reached
Out
No—
He had paid
He was here by choice
Gloved fingers
Closed
Leather protest
Stumbling
Erratic
Down the stairs
Out of time
He rewrote the second act that night
Alone
Fingers abused
Unused and tender
Stiff, burning, bruised
Alive again
Pulling notes
Plucking tones
Out of nothing
To create
Each piece
Taking part
Coming together
In symphony
Primal, anguishing, bold
Composition’s raw flesh
Devours desperately
Ravages his starving soul
The agony
The splendour
The exhilaration
The
Heat
The fourth time, the curtain rose
Amid soprano’s melody
Counterpoint flowed
Hidden, for him alone
A tessitura of notes
Floating before him
Leading the way
Down
Lips parting to sing
Ribs
A cage
No air
Coming in
Trembling
Tips of
Fingers
Emerging callouses
Throbbing
Nails biting
Torn
Skin
Aggravating
Pain
Desperate tether
Shuddering
Breath
Chest heaving
The world
Was not a stage
And lives
Were not to be plotted
Or owned.
He resisted, pulled back
The monster choked, held down
The fifth time, he did not pay
He, a patron—friend of the arts
Guest of honour, difference stark
Gleaming eyes, head held high
The director had his name
The maestro held his score
But they could never comprehend
His intentions were so much more
Rehearsals commenced with lively rigour
He was permitted to attend
Heartbeat soaring
Masking surging fervour
He had found it, at last
The long-sought escape from his past
Forgotten conductor’s baton rose again
The fermata finally at an end
When he walked in
Some unassuming
Dull
Unremarkable young man
Belting technique, reciting theory
Straightened spines, supported breathing
Thread snagged, pulse heating
Thought wrenched
Shorn entirely
Away
Discordance, disharmony
Dissonance
Frantic
Pressure-crazed
Eyes—the lights
Missed
Cue, forgotten
Line
No escape
Music
Accelerating, furious
Harmony
Straining
He knew this song
Clenching spasms
Notes tension burning string
Snapped
Fists—
No longer at his sides
Gasping breaths, rasping throats
Desperation, writhing
And despair
Sky on cue
Rain drenched hair
Percussion echoed street
Sharp breaths staggered time
Eyes too wide
Colours roiled and writhed
Then music
Swooped in
Furious joy flourished inside
Yes—he could be again
Lightning igniting under skin
As he surrendered wholly
To what lay within
The next time, he heard it begin
All parts in unison, when
Again, he commanded her terror
Frantic scream and profound revulsion
Tarnished melody’s inevitable conclusion
But this time
He held the last chord
Savouring
His final resolution