The Last Symphony

A musicality resounds
Within a gunshot’s silvery rounds
A cloud of smoke goes up in whirls
Amid the ringing chords, unfurls

And falling bullets keep the beat
As do sounds of running feet
Eyes are closed; they fill with tears
A wise man doesn’t see; he hears

Ever pleasing to the senses
The symphonic sound commences
A trigger pulled, a flash of flame
Percussionists are put to shame

And then the shrieks of astonishment
The choir adds their accompaniment
The tang of blood, the powder’s reek
Adds to the orchestra’s mystique

A rising note, a crescendo thrilling
Masks the alarm’s dreadful trilling
I feel I’m falling through the throng
While listening to this enchanting song

Ignoring the soloist’s protests
The police try to arrest
But the orchestra is resolute; they play
Even while the soloist is taken away

The tempo slows to a mournful creep
And though my wound is grave and deep
I keep on listening as they play
Though music starts to fade away

I cling to elusive melody
But the musicians start a threnody
The instruments shortly explore their ranges
Before the music swiftly changes

Three beats of silence, then a note
Fleeting, soft, muted, remote
Three beats of silence, a single tone
Mourning, whispering, sad, alone

I lay still awaiting the applause that rings
Yet nothing but the silence sings
The music stops, the curtain drops
And nothing but the quiet remains