Silent Crescendo

The angel stared down at the golden mask

Lined with hand drawn black etching

Soft feathers of bright silver framed one side

The other bore the ebony rod to hold the mask

Towards the shielded faces of the pearly skinned maidens

Who donned the mask with their ornate dresses

That swirled heavily as they were whisked about

The golden hall, beaming with the sparkling orbs

Filled with the silver and gold dipped notes

The flew through the air with a flourish

And drove the masked maidens to cling

To the strong suited arms, that held them

As the spun about, their heavy dresses

Ornately flinging through the dripping notes

The mask stared back at the angel

Its eyeless eyes seemed full of the truthful lies

Which once resided behind the lack etched mask

The angel held the mask gingerly, in shivering hands

Where the golden hall faded to broken bricks

And dilapidated pieces of plaster, strewn about

The once intricately patterned tile floor

The angel flung the mask through the silent air

Only the soft whisper of the flying mask broke

Through the deadened notes, now the silver chipped

And the gold distorted, the sweet melodies

Faded with the dust of the broken bricks

The ornate dresses abandoned, there where the deadened notes

Rang through the air like blazing trumpets

In the utmost silence, there the angel watched

As the mask contacted the ground at last,

The gilded mask, etched with black

Shattered as if porcelain, shards whistling through

The silent notes that filled the space

With the silent crescendo

The shards stung the angel’s moonlight face

Burning with white hot fire, that singed and scarred

Leaving the permanent mark of nothing

The angel’s dark hair fell onto slight shoulders

Tears burning, matching the fires intensity

The forever scars of nothing engraved on marble face

A statue of sorts, inspired by the once dripping notes

And the ornate dresses of the masked maidens

The suited arms of the strong men

And the black etched gold mask

Which now lay strewn about the faded golden hall

Its days of glory gone, as the winds of time

Eroded away the golden hall

Soured the silver and gold notes

And bore the last breaths

Of the masked maidens

And the strong men

The angel sat attentive, listening, as though for life

To the silent crescendo, that rang through the nothing

The silent crescendo, where the angel could almost

See the ornate dresses heavily flying,

In the strong arms of the suited men

Where the mask’s ebony rod was tightly gasped

By the soft gloved hand,

And the silent crescendo, brought it all back

And the truthful lies, that rested beneath the mask’s blank eyes

Swung to the tempo, of the silent crescendo