The Memento
Seventh Movement
Seventh Movement: The Memento
Firm graspā¦ an invasive memory, a though not their ownā¦ how do they imitate works of those who no longer live?
Was it wiseā¦ a moral prospectā¦ to shape them long after the craftsmen’s casket has been buried? Yesā¦ for this way the Giant may yet succeed.
Fumbled graspā¦ all our instrumentsā¦ resonate, flow, screamā¦ our message is sewn into the mind… those who find them are tuned to our song. Built off our foundationā¦ an unintended chorus Is assembledā¦ unaware musicians playing in synchronicityā¦ the instruments, based on our iterations, all differentā¦ yet they combine in melody.
I am an unwilling conductorā¦ Time has no meaning; the form is uselessā¦ until I raise my baton.
Lost graspā¦ the stringsā¦ they have tuned, waiting to be pluckedā¦ lost thoughts win over your own.
I listen to the voidā¦ for when it its quietā¦ I shall beginā¦ but for now patienceā¦ the Adjutant who betrayed his postā¦ buried in his failures.
Redemption is beyond my graspā¦ the symphony is not mineā¦ I betray my masters once againā¦ forgive meā¦ I am lost in time.