We watch as green-filmed lamps illuminate
Each dark musician's stand and well-marked page
Below the dimming lights upon the stage.
There's silence as we hold our breaths and wait.
A deadly tuning chord strikes true and straight
While instruments prepare to wail and rage:
A grand orchestral army sent to wage
A war against the apathy of fate.
Some others might have wavered, been unsure
In sounding Allegretto-angry, and
Some symphonies might shy and be demure.
But this is something shocking, wild and pure;
So even though we hear the music end
This transcendental energy endures.
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