Scarlequain
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Impotent Impressionism,
Simply symbolism;
Raucous Romantics,
Nationally narcissistic:
Mystical Music.
Overwhelming desire,
An internal fire,
Requiring dedication,
This eternal damnation:
Creativity.
Track by track,
Fact after fact,
Wasting life away
Every night and day:
Listening test.
Paradigm shift,
New garbage to sift;
Approach questionable,
Debatably reasonable:
21st Century Church.
Questionable as Art,
Although from the heart;
Void of theology,
The entire body:
Praise & Worship.
Soprano can be heard,
Well that's just absure,
Make the horns louder then;
Ein Heldenleben:
Richard Strauss.
Punishment for sin,
Air filled with the din;
Hellfire and brimstone,
Now for sins to atone:
Dies irae, dies illa.
Bodies transported,
Distances toted,
Removed from the house,
Dressed in a clean blouse:
Funeral home.
Musical history,
Plenty of symphony;
Century old tradition,
Composers of location:
Viennese school.
Congregational singing,A dying, artless being;Intended for edificationAs well as glorification:Church music.
From rock to punk,My life's largest chunk;Now onto classical,The Romantics and all:Musical schizophrenic.
Aching when seperated,That, by each other abated;Love and laughter flowing;Together, always growing:Friends.
Millions of words,
Few ever heard,
Die in the dark,
Without Inspiration's spark:
Dancing with sprites,
Worse than brightest lights,
Constant sound,
Not a moment's peace be found:
Slayed the Jabberwock,
Put the Question to Spock:
Why is a Raven like a writing desk?
I've been tinkering with a form of poetry I can find no name for. I call it Scarlequain. It's in an AABBC form, with the first four lines describing the fifth line much like a riddle.
