The Bank of Musicians

You do not have to be graceful all your life.

You do not have to wander through the maze of dots and lines

for an enternity regretting your choices.

You only have to calm the fire that burns in your heart,

before all musicians are aware.

Tell me about exhaustion and passion, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the chord progressions float magestically in the background. 

Meanwhile the lone violinist's thinnest string snaps in half and

throws her life savings onto the floor,

sliding underneath all the white swans

hoping they could save the shattered heart of passion.

Meanwhile the bank of black swans flew around in circles,

wings flapping to the steadiness of Tchaikovsky.

Whoever you are, whatever your passion,

as time passes, a passion will become an obsession.

The graceful melody, the soft landing of the beat will cease

never ever restarting its journey

soaring high in the sky.