Dear Mister Composer, I have heard your music and I'm sure that it's equisite. You are a composer of song. You are a hero to your listeners. I don't know you Mister Composer, but you're my hero as well. Conciousness reminds me that your music has a soul. A soul that swell as the composition climaxes. That point in the story when.. Fingers are burning. Lips are bruised. Bodies are sweating. Instruments are giving this music, this wonderful music, all they can give to reach the climactic orgasm that leaves the listeners breathless, their bodies tense, their emotions apparent in every precept of their stature. Pause......Not long though. The caressing begins. Bows run softly and sweetly against the gentle strings of their counterparts. Woodwinds whisper softly their approval of the perfect peak. Drums beat humbly as the heart of the orchestra. Listeners relax, ever so sweetly. Eyes closed, Half a smile of pure ecstasy smooth across their face. Where does this elated song take them? No one knows. Perhaps to a sunset beach, Maybe a mountain field engrossed in flowers, Maybe to their own little heaven. Whether it be a Sonata, Concerto, or Symphony, they all tell a story in some way, to whisk away the listener into an adventure of song. Thank you mister composer, Thank you sincerely for your sweet, sweet stories. signed, The Listener.
Reason for writing:
It's just how I feel.
Birth sign: Not entered
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