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It's over©
Lost in the nuances, I forget the grandiosity of the play.
Invested in the performance, I yet disregard the pain she exudes,
Stuggling to keep up
With advancements hence made,
I find myself staring at the clock
That turns back to a time
Where the nuances were part of the act,
And the play a part of the grandiosity,
And hence I stand,
Awestruck as the first time I saw her,
An orange cone in an audience of a million orange cones,
Clapping silently at the brilliance of the Swan,
In a ballet of my own,
As the violin rises to a crescendo,
And yet does little to stir me,
And I lose myself yet again,
To a time that never returns.
© windrider
Invested in the performance, I yet disregard the pain she exudes,
Stuggling to keep up
With advancements hence made,
I find myself staring at the clock
That turns back to a time
Where the nuances were part of the act,
And the play a part of the grandiosity,
And hence I stand,
Awestruck as the first time I saw her,
An orange cone in an audience of a million orange cones,
Clapping silently at the brilliance of the Swan,
In a ballet of my own,
As the violin rises to a crescendo,
And yet does little to stir me,
And I lose myself yet again,
To a time that never returns.
© windrider
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