The Foretold Façade of Those Who Knew Nothing, But Everything ♥

I wrote this poem for a project in my Music Class. It was to describe different personas in the 1920s Jazz Age! It conveys much emotion! I hope you guys enjoy it! 

The Foretold Façade of Those Who Knew Nothing, But Everything

Abdicating to the abattoir of a cappella abloom

From allegro to adagio, our history is atonal to whom?

The damask, masks us from the aborning song of what we call our own

From the soloist’s silencing strums of that sweetening saxophone

Awaiting the abeyance of what was once considered a crime

Lo and behold the music of my time.

Within this disheartened heart of his, there was a piece of me

Foretold a story that was written through one’s darkening decree

Here I stand, to withstand, to understand the one true person I am

For I am sure, not of before, I no longer destine the damned

A poet by heart, but this lyrical legato is my new living rhyme

Lo and behold the music of my time.

An evening away from the arabesque, no longer a wakening pirouette

Alone in this vivacious sound, the work of my feet for here I’ve found

From gavotte to galliard, I extend a fair greeting “Grazie!”

For this inspiriting inquisition of music so sublime

Lo and behold the music of my time.

Returned from battle, my mind is not my own

This ballad, beat, or baroque it may seem

Seem to be capriccio of livening means

Such pleasure, such bliss is not that of a soldier

This declaration of no delectation, no longer can I hold her

No longer can I speak, who am I now? An actor? A mime?

Lo and behold the music of my time.

Something must be missing, but the memories still reside

For the music of our past, we find cannot die

The impromptu, the interlude, or the interval between the two

I once loved to love the harmony, the hymn, or even rhythm and blues

The journey to leave, the journey to repossess, was all for the climb

Lo and behold the music of my time.

 The resonance and reprise, the prelude to what is to come

There’s a story to be told with every vocal, hiss, and hum

The discernible debacle of every phrase and pitch

From the poorest of the poor, and the richest of the rich

The crescendo of each note, the start of a pantomime

Lo and behold the music of our time.

Copyright © 2013 Anisa Nasir

All Rights Reserved ©

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Beacoup D'amour - Anisa Nasir

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3 Comments

  1. midnighthues says:

    Musical words! Lovely Poem!

  2. midnighthues says:

    Forgot to add, provocative too!

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