Composer's Ghost

Music speaks of what has been
Burns itself into your skin
Melody laughs and threatens, cries
Thunder breaks behind your eyes

Ghosts of composers hover near
Their essence in the notes you hear
Your page is turned by ghostly hands
The past now in the present stands

Called to memory by the sound
The old ones hear, and gather 'round
The notes crescendo, old and new
And bring their faces into view

Remembering days when they were young
And pieces of their souls were sung
When tinkling arpeggios and concert themes
Were born out of their hopes and dreams

And as the last notes fade away
Their outlines slowly blur and grey
A smile, a nod, and they are gone
But memory stays, and they go on.

Beethoven's Last Night

I'm not crazy, I swear. This is simply a product of repeated listening to Beethoven's Last Night, Transiberian Orchestra.

Madness comes when night is late
Content to circle, watch and wait
Exhaling death and breathing hate
Can you run--
Or is it fate?

Terror blinding binding squeezing
Feel your lifeblood slowly freezing
Know your fear is never leaving
Night is come--
You hear it breathing?

Why do I now feel surprise
To find it there behind my eyes
Stifling my silent cries
Despair is mine--
I feel it rise.