Life Like A Symphony Poem by Christopher Soto

The composers write, a chance of life begins to grow.
A beautiful exposition inside a human womb,
sets the lovely motif that for years will carry on.
Form and harmonic structure are presented and slowly expand.
The embryo soon becomes much more,
as voicings and instruments take their place on the composers score.

Dot after dot, DNA has taken form.
Through selection of years, scales naturally have formed.
The notes are picked to suit the tune,
passages played from violins to trombones.

Development starts and a child is born.
With a fortissimo scream, and a young human roar.
Its warmly welcomed life into this present point in time,
brings delight to the composers, and has touched the audiences heart.

Still early in it's stages, life just carries on.
The young motiff that was once created, is very subtly living on.
The composers conduct to lead this music on it's right path.
They guide it with precission,
passing their knowledge from their own past.

Years keep going by, marked like measures on a page.
This young motiff has modulated many times and time again.
It's gone from baby, to child, and has now grown old.
So many movements it's experienced,
that it remains nearly unrecognizeable at it's current stage.

But as time has passed, so has this tune.
At the end of it's life it recapitulates,
and looks back on it's many years of existence.
Memories of it's composers lives within it's sound.
Being young, playing dumb,
then exploring the world of many flavours.

As this piece comes to it's final few bars,
it becomes that young motiff that it once was.
It re-states itself and marks it's point in time.
Then with a final cadence, it draws it's last breath,
and proceeds to die.

The crowd cries, it cheers, it admires with tears.
For this one symphony has phsycially died,
but it remains living as a memory, behind the audiences eye.

And when they leave the concert hall,
that tune will be hummed and passed down to many and all.
For we like symphonies are born then die,
created by compoers who are music in their own way,
and we pass on the tune, and create our own masterpiece,
as we are all composers and this world is our stave.