Post by basiadulces on Feb 2, 2009 20:08:28 GMT -6
hey, i found this one. at first, like a lot of months ago, i really didnt like it. but now as i reread it, i'm really quite proud of the rhyme scheme. enjoy(:
hopefully more will be to come. i'm going to get out of this block! x3
Lonely Is The Trumpeter
Belting chorus of singing wood,
With golden metal in the mix.
The steady hammer of the deep-throat bass.
And auxiliary racket of the percussion,
accentuation with their sticks.
Unisons and harmonies hand off,
granting depth to the spiraling typeface.
Note by note, runs on run, staccato tongues,
All the clamor of the art.
And yet, still heard is the deep-voiced bass.
Then, all is gone. The heart stops beating
as does the choir of instrumentality.
The tension holds us by our very throats,
all holding breath in await.
This one brings us back to reality.
The Lone Trumpeter, the smooth voice alone.
None accompanied, just the one brave heart.
Fingers moving with ease and precision,
Lips changing pitches and tone,
He keeps this choir from falling apart.
How Lonely is he, sole and apart,
for the trumpet's sweet song?
Muted and open, extroverted and soft,
by his lonesome and heart sake.
His song sings of his lone and goes on.
And now, his solo is broken,
melding soon with the voices of fellow.
The choir of trumpets blare and call,
joined together with the melodic tune.
And soon the entire of symphony will swell, Oh.
Fuller, and bright, now precise with the tone,
the song is fulfilled and brought close.
The band softens, building the tension again.
Then as the mouse can be heard,
They grow and soon yell with the power that grows!
The leader swings his arms 'round,
and all now is lapsed.
The faces are shining with the accomplish of task,
the cheers sing from beyond,
And with glee, their hands boom as clasped.
He turns and stages the musicians with pride,
Signaling only one to rise.
His golden glee sings with self-regard,
Bell bright in the shimmering luminescence.
The Lone Trumpeter cries.
hopefully more will be to come. i'm going to get out of this block! x3
Lonely Is The Trumpeter
Belting chorus of singing wood,
With golden metal in the mix.
The steady hammer of the deep-throat bass.
And auxiliary racket of the percussion,
accentuation with their sticks.
Unisons and harmonies hand off,
granting depth to the spiraling typeface.
Note by note, runs on run, staccato tongues,
All the clamor of the art.
And yet, still heard is the deep-voiced bass.
Then, all is gone. The heart stops beating
as does the choir of instrumentality.
The tension holds us by our very throats,
all holding breath in await.
This one brings us back to reality.
The Lone Trumpeter, the smooth voice alone.
None accompanied, just the one brave heart.
Fingers moving with ease and precision,
Lips changing pitches and tone,
He keeps this choir from falling apart.
How Lonely is he, sole and apart,
for the trumpet's sweet song?
Muted and open, extroverted and soft,
by his lonesome and heart sake.
His song sings of his lone and goes on.
And now, his solo is broken,
melding soon with the voices of fellow.
The choir of trumpets blare and call,
joined together with the melodic tune.
And soon the entire of symphony will swell, Oh.
Fuller, and bright, now precise with the tone,
the song is fulfilled and brought close.
The band softens, building the tension again.
Then as the mouse can be heard,
They grow and soon yell with the power that grows!
The leader swings his arms 'round,
and all now is lapsed.
The faces are shining with the accomplish of task,
the cheers sing from beyond,
And with glee, their hands boom as clasped.
He turns and stages the musicians with pride,
Signaling only one to rise.
His golden glee sings with self-regard,
Bell bright in the shimmering luminescence.
The Lone Trumpeter cries.