Tune

I realise today that my composition is imperfect,

my tuning is out, the fith is no longer perfect.

The serenade of mine was written in major C, 

life intervened, transposed it to a minor sounding

key.

My Cello has weaved a tune, an enchantment inspired 

by the sun and the moon. At times dissonant

and jarring through Locrian passing. Other times

mellow and light, like the the light of the moon

filled night; illuminating.

The composition has turned out to be no

enchantment, the dreamscape painted draws a 

empathetic lament. This solo tune, continues as an

imrprov in swing, building to a sixteenth-note-filled

crescendo, reminiscent of a tired Claire de Lune.

To weave a tapestry of magnificent potentiality,

inspired by the idea of a known harmony and tune.

This be my life's goal, the ambition of the entirety 

of my moments, I will finish before I grow old, I will

finish by June.