The Tower
By Lanei
~ Inspired by "The Tower" by Ludovico Einaudi ~ |
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Simple chimes, bells, like raindrops falling
Soon become background noise, piano notes mirror the patterns descending from the sky
Repeat... Hold it...
Shy away from the patterns, ever so slightly morph the raw melodies that nature has given us.
Another voice, a real idea this time... Dancing. There's dancing. More piano. More commotion. Organized chaos. Beautiful dancing. Something is being created, being built. A tower of sorts?
The rain is still beautiful, still falling, still part of our world.
Soft drums, tambourine whisper...
Falling.
Dancing.
Creating.
Ideas pile on, the tower slowly rises from the chimes of rain.
Repeat.
New idea. Innovation. Singing... I hear freedom... Yet somehow they're all still united. A new idea, free as one entity.
Hold it...
And everything begins to collide... Too many noises, orchestral synthesizers still captivate, make us forget about the rain -- we welcome the change all too well.
We can hardly hear the bells pattering on the sidewalk, coalescing into melodious puddles.
Too many noises.
Piano takes the beat from the drums, now pounding away... still beautiful in so many ways.
Change.
Too many noises.
Towers.
Too many noises.
Breathtaking, inspiring noises.
And in a sudden rush of clarity, we open our eyes. Clarity... Where did the rain go?
The tower sways.
Heads turn -- Ghosts of old melodies can be heard again as new voices die away to listen.
To listen to what we've done.
Piano begins to try and remember, imitating the drops of silver falling from the sky as best as it can, but the notes... They aren't quite the same.
Ideas crumble.
We stare at the remaining puddles, but in our reflections are only reminded that we have ourselves to blame.
Because there is only so much we can do once the bells are gone.
Soon become background noise, piano notes mirror the patterns descending from the sky
Repeat... Hold it...
Shy away from the patterns, ever so slightly morph the raw melodies that nature has given us.
Another voice, a real idea this time... Dancing. There's dancing. More piano. More commotion. Organized chaos. Beautiful dancing. Something is being created, being built. A tower of sorts?
The rain is still beautiful, still falling, still part of our world.
Soft drums, tambourine whisper...
Falling.
Dancing.
Creating.
Ideas pile on, the tower slowly rises from the chimes of rain.
Repeat.
New idea. Innovation. Singing... I hear freedom... Yet somehow they're all still united. A new idea, free as one entity.
Hold it...
And everything begins to collide... Too many noises, orchestral synthesizers still captivate, make us forget about the rain -- we welcome the change all too well.
We can hardly hear the bells pattering on the sidewalk, coalescing into melodious puddles.
Too many noises.
Piano takes the beat from the drums, now pounding away... still beautiful in so many ways.
Change.
Too many noises.
Towers.
Too many noises.
Breathtaking, inspiring noises.
And in a sudden rush of clarity, we open our eyes. Clarity... Where did the rain go?
The tower sways.
Heads turn -- Ghosts of old melodies can be heard again as new voices die away to listen.
To listen to what we've done.
Piano begins to try and remember, imitating the drops of silver falling from the sky as best as it can, but the notes... They aren't quite the same.
Ideas crumble.
We stare at the remaining puddles, but in our reflections are only reminded that we have ourselves to blame.
Because there is only so much we can do once the bells are gone.