A cacophony crashes between the ears,
As Beelzebub ringing the bells of Hell leers,
A method to madness not suddenly appears,
As ages embitter it through the imagined years,
Then lo! Peace settles within the troubled brain,
It is time for music once again,
The harmonious sound one cannot feign,
It emerges from the depths of the soul to reign,
As though possessed; the fingers dance,
To portray perhaps, one's lost romance,
Or the sprite within that yearns to dance,
The eyes grasp each written note they glance,
As the rehearsal comes to an end,
The exhausted body begins to bend,
The long journey to their chamber that they wend,
Is spattered with dreams the sleepy mind shall lend,
Soon, they cleanse themselves of the day,
And consciousness yields and fades away,
Their shattered senses at once decay,
Now among their pillows, the faeries play,
Their minute, fair feet move with finesse,
The sleeping mortal's locks of hair they caress,
The human face is lined with bitterness,
For youth, to which they cannot regress,
As Night sighs her magical breath,
Meditating on last day's death,
The mortal's understanding gains in depth,
For in dreams are often blessed the bereft.