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The Performance (poem)
The conductor raises his hands and all grows silent.
In front of him instruments gleam as they are raised to shoulders or lips.
Slowly his hands move, tracing out a rhythmic pattern in the air.
A soft melody fills the air which sings of happiness and days already past.
The melody grows in strength and speed untill it is like a tidal wave that cannot be stopped.
Delicate flurries of notes burst from silver flutes.
Deep, long tones burst from tubas.
A loud harmony rings from trumpets.
Bows snaked over strings of violins and violas.
Drummers's arms danced as they beat out the primal rhythm.
Countermelodies and undercurrents of notes wove throught the already complicaed strings of music.
Waves of sound rushed from the stage and enveloped the crowd.
Slowly the music began to fade and die.
The conductor lowered his hands and the curtains fell,
blocking the orchestra from sight.





 
 
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