by Greetings all, and welcome to this little thread.
Now as some of you know, I like to write in my free time. By no means am I the next big thing, but I thought 'hey, why not see what the world thinks?'. Feel free to leave a comment, or critique if you want.
Over time I will be posting various excerpts and poems that I come up with for you all to, hopefully, enjoy.
I can tell you now that my grammar is terrible. It has never been my strong suit. But hey, work with what you got right?
Now enough talk, time to post!
The following peice is titled 'Flick'. I wrote it after I heard some opera song a few years back.
===
I gaze out onto the battlefield carefully taking in the terrain before moving. Each step is measured and focused, my face arranged into a well practiced mask of stoicism as I move.
I am a solider, and my mission is simple. I must free a few ill taken innocents from a simple yet effective prison.
Before me a gathering of individuals sit, some relaxed others twitching nervously. The group glances and whispers amongst its self, veterans giving advice to the newcomers.
I take my place before them and their eyes focus upon me, no doubt seeking their orders, revealing at once a vast sea of emotions.
Excitement, boredom, and trepidation seem to be the dominant examples, though a few seem just as impassive as I am. In their hands they hold tight their arms. Intricate constructs of brass, steel, wood, and leather.
Gathering my strength, I too take up arms, offering naught but a silent nod to my forces; it is all they need.
At first all is silent, the air as still as death on winters morn. But then, just barely audible, a quivering sound: a beginning to the battle that is soft on the ear. Then slowly the sounds of my forces arms begin to mingle.
The high of a flute was most obvious, it's notes fluttering upon the air like a morning-bird’s cry.
Next comes the deep, rolling thunder of the percussionists; the once chaotic sound soon organizing itself into a steady pounding tattoo.
I glace downward, eyes focusing upon an assortment of well aged paper. A glorious composition of notes rest upon it, each preserved in liquid pitch upon its yellowed surface.
With but a mere flick of the wrist the notes are released. Freed from the confines of their paper prison; set loose to dance upon the open air.
Most men claim power comes with strength and finesse.
No I say! A flick, a wave, a push is all it takes and the greatest of strengths is released!!!
It is here, on this small island held adrift amongst a sea of sounds. This living painting of brass and leather, sharp dress and cultured mannerism.
Such elation do I feel when the notes are freed! Glorious is the sight of the mingle and dance!
But all that is good must eventually end, and soon it does for me.
The brass settles first, then the woodwind, and finally the percussion. My soldiers, exhausted from their mission stand proudly at the applause of those behind me. Courteously they all take a bow, then resume their positions upon the front-lines of the fight.
I know that they are weary, but our battle is almost through. Despite our success thus far, I can tell the notes are still eager to be free. They wish, beg, cry out for mercy; for the right to dance and mingle about one another, guided by the rhythm and tempo my men provide with their arms.
Who am I to deny them, these innocent, ill taken prisoners, the right of freedom and joy?
My baton is raised, my soldiers ready themselves, and with a flick of the wrist the battle starts again...
Now as some of you know, I like to write in my free time. By no means am I the next big thing, but I thought 'hey, why not see what the world thinks?'. Feel free to leave a comment, or critique if you want.
Over time I will be posting various excerpts and poems that I come up with for you all to, hopefully, enjoy.
I can tell you now that my grammar is terrible. It has never been my strong suit. But hey, work with what you got right?
Now enough talk, time to post!
The following peice is titled 'Flick'. I wrote it after I heard some opera song a few years back.
===
I gaze out onto the battlefield carefully taking in the terrain before moving. Each step is measured and focused, my face arranged into a well practiced mask of stoicism as I move.
I am a solider, and my mission is simple. I must free a few ill taken innocents from a simple yet effective prison.
Before me a gathering of individuals sit, some relaxed others twitching nervously. The group glances and whispers amongst its self, veterans giving advice to the newcomers.
I take my place before them and their eyes focus upon me, no doubt seeking their orders, revealing at once a vast sea of emotions.
Excitement, boredom, and trepidation seem to be the dominant examples, though a few seem just as impassive as I am. In their hands they hold tight their arms. Intricate constructs of brass, steel, wood, and leather.
Gathering my strength, I too take up arms, offering naught but a silent nod to my forces; it is all they need.
At first all is silent, the air as still as death on winters morn. But then, just barely audible, a quivering sound: a beginning to the battle that is soft on the ear. Then slowly the sounds of my forces arms begin to mingle.
The high of a flute was most obvious, it's notes fluttering upon the air like a morning-bird’s cry.
Next comes the deep, rolling thunder of the percussionists; the once chaotic sound soon organizing itself into a steady pounding tattoo.
I glace downward, eyes focusing upon an assortment of well aged paper. A glorious composition of notes rest upon it, each preserved in liquid pitch upon its yellowed surface.
With but a mere flick of the wrist the notes are released. Freed from the confines of their paper prison; set loose to dance upon the open air.
Most men claim power comes with strength and finesse.
No I say! A flick, a wave, a push is all it takes and the greatest of strengths is released!!!
It is here, on this small island held adrift amongst a sea of sounds. This living painting of brass and leather, sharp dress and cultured mannerism.
Such elation do I feel when the notes are freed! Glorious is the sight of the mingle and dance!
But all that is good must eventually end, and soon it does for me.
The brass settles first, then the woodwind, and finally the percussion. My soldiers, exhausted from their mission stand proudly at the applause of those behind me. Courteously they all take a bow, then resume their positions upon the front-lines of the fight.
I know that they are weary, but our battle is almost through. Despite our success thus far, I can tell the notes are still eager to be free. They wish, beg, cry out for mercy; for the right to dance and mingle about one another, guided by the rhythm and tempo my men provide with their arms.
Who am I to deny them, these innocent, ill taken prisoners, the right of freedom and joy?
My baton is raised, my soldiers ready themselves, and with a flick of the wrist the battle starts again...
