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After the Crescendo
Folder:
Just Rambling Insulated.
We were wrapped in the rhythm. Up to code. All approved and inspections passed.
It built and built. Pulsing. More solid and moving by the nanosecond.
An edifice to us. So strong a structure?or so it seemed.
We were wrong.
There was an oversight.
A violation, some dissonant, jarring key.
And no requiem, no dirge can change it.
Gut it all. Cut the losses and get out.
The walls? They were just facades constructed on empty verse and intangible notes.
They're crumbling now, crashing all around.
Just ruins. Nothing of worth left.
(Was it ever really there?)
Your pleas? The discordant cacophony of cymbals clashing
Best to sell your soul for salvage and scrap. Hell, sell it for a song.
It's all you'll ever have.
Maybe you can use it as memories of the symphony that never really was and was never meant to be.
A counterfeit melody. The bridge on which to erect the next monument to your lies, deceit and failure.
The opening stanza for your next maudlin medley.
The next fallacy constructed for the benefit of your next fantasy-loving fools.
I wish I could warn them that that it's just a pity, an oxygen-sucking, life-vanquishing experience.
Nothing more than an exercise in futility and regret, this taking center stage in the tragic opera that is the instability, the pretense known as your life.
You're on shaky ground.
And me? I've been through it all.
Completion.
Climax.
Denoument.
Disappointment.
The foundation shifts and shatters.
This building is condemned.
Your heart unfit for habitation.
You fade out to horns wailing and strings crying.
While I rise from the wreckage and debris with bass thrumming and drums pounding.
Solid.
