Could you lend me the arpeggios 

In the C Sharp Minor

Those that bereft of reason took me to the moonlight 

On the Luzern lake, some years later, the sullen moments of the  Adagio in deep connotations 

Left me to the fortes 

I am no Rellstab, just some humility

Tattered in boisterous company

Mostly filling up the void left by mysterious fantasia, or the variations in the Allegretto that must speak or not speak when the question arrives in the tempo

The presto is arpeggiated, as if the waves must collide several times, not in mutiny but in own volition, several roads are leading into one singular unity of creation, in formality 

Will you lend me the chords, one more time to breathe,

 and to hide in my retreat or in the acceptance, of the values that in their passing allowed me the remorse of a lifetime

Can you lend me the touches of tender harmony, the soft slur waiting to mingle in the unmistakable identity of a tragic bar, that is more silent than exposed

Or more floated than in depth

The Moon, nowhere in sight 

Is like the veiled abacus, wading in the waters of a shore less flotilla 

Vying for a chance that never was 

Such and other ironies persist in the gasping bars of the finale


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