Proms - By Anna McCarthy Hoffman


Classical is thinking man’s music
In melody without words
There is a void
The mind must fill
Those who are not trained
Despise the practice
And have no patience with it
The learned know
The beauty of the music
Is what the listener brings
The melodic sounds are
Merely an open frequency
Where creative thoughts
Befriend ideas
Mingle with imaginations
Finding love in lost memories
Latent wonderment
Without voices telling you want to think
The subconcious is allowed to feel
The sounds of the strings
The horns
The bass and winds
Take thoughts travelling
Far beyond the traps
Of this generation
We feel not slave
To the age we live in
To the times and the seasons
That pass and are yet to come
There is a transcendence
A rare opportunity
For the mind and heart to
Come into accordance
As if you were all alone
And not surrounded by
An audience, each individual
Silently computing,
Booting up and processing
Mental data stored
In deep containers of deliberate
Rows of still statues
Seated in the red seats of the symphony.

- Written by: Anna McCarthy Hoffman

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