Symphonies.

What is a song without its writer? A dance without the music? What is a soul without its truth?

What can a symphony be if not beauty, grace, spirit? What can a symphony be without you?

You have symphonies in you, kid. You have the B-flats and the E-sharps that many dream of knowing. You have symphonies running through your bright red blood and through your big red heart and out of your fingertips through to the page, the piano.

You have symphonies in you, trust me. You have secrets bound within your soul and deep within your beautiful mind and in the nature of your will. The dream is the synthesised mixture of hope, glory, and talent, and you have it all.

If ever there was a game, you could play it, a song and you could sing it, a dance and you could learn it. Anything that you try and grasp becomes yours; your dreams give themselves to you. Your legs belong to a ballet dancer and your hands to an artist, and a writer, your humour to a comedian, and your wit only to yourself. All you have is so innate and yet so learned, it is mastery of form.

You are a mastery of form, and yet form has made you. You were formed from the symphonies of kings, the soul of a star and with the light of the sun. You have hope living inside of you, magic making a home in the forest of your soul.

You are a masterpiece, a sculpture, you are the gold dust which hurricanes inside of  us in the face of beauty. You are a masterpiece and yet you carved yourself, paved your way, built your house with bricks and pure desire.

You have it all but you’d give it all away. You would give it all away and still have everything. You are an enigma, gold dust, perfection.

I feel a cheat to call you perfection, because you are not. You embody perfection, touch it like a feather and teach it how to talk and walk and love and laugh and learn. You are the student and yet you are the teacher, the moon and yet the sun. You are a shadow yet so full of light.

Your breath is confidence, your voice is our hope.

You don’t just have symphonies, kid, you are the symphony.

One thought on “Symphonies

  1. Damn! I’m not even the supposed “kid” and my eyes were filled with tears urging not to drop because even the tears in my eyes couldn’t stop reading. You’re deep and witty. Beautiful piece💕

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