Violin Romance

Violin Romance

Like the midnight owl that sings its song,

Of romance that ignites the roses of the soul.

Like the gentle whistle of the angels of Neckar, that fire Cupid’s arrows,

A thousand moonlights that echo through this vessel of life,

 With violins that speak a truth that no tongue can sound.

It is the language of love, through the spirit of the bow.

Le cœurs des humains sont attirés par sa beauté.

The lord of violets sings his sweet song.

This is the violin romance.

Its warmth sweeps through the dusty streets,

And down the pathways, of old trees,

That the owl that sings the songs of beauty hides in.

Oh how I surrender to this beauty.

In the midst of the hours of the early morning

I hear the voice of ten thousand angels

That sing the song of prophecy, the song the owl has sung.

Through the echo’s of wood and bow.

Unlived, my fears and terrors,

The god of violets takes them from me, and replaces them with,

Ten thousand angels that sing to me,

With the voice of innocence and purity, which we call true love.

The incredibly incomprehensible, unquestionable and ubiquitous beauty of the violin,

 That saws through the soul with twirls and twists.

I thank him every day, for he has wrote the book to my soul

This is the love story of the violin and its romance.

For Ludwig Van Beethoven. The god of violets.

By David James Westlake

The Mozart Poem

 More than a man of composition, my own personal messiah

Opened his soul to the angels of symphony

Zeitgeist, an enlightened spirit to guide us, through such poisoned times

Art, she cannot comprehend such a level of beauty; art is for the mortal man.

Reality becomes as distant as a childhood memory, when he strikes the checkerboard keys.

Tonight is the night I surrender my soul, to the god of roses.

David Westlake

Moonlight and Midnights

Moonlight and Midnights

Moonlight and midnights, warmth of the world

Staring into their eyes, of deep blue and purple

You would not be able to recognize their enchanting whispers

That the winds echo, and talk to

Hissing through the trees, they speak to me

“Give your soul to the world” they command.

 But I cannot, for I am a fool, who has one only purpose,

Music, it has taken my spirit, forever and ever,

And I cannot give to them, what does not belong to me,

They hiss and cry, until the new day rises.

 But I must answer only to my master’s call

And not to those of the night and moon

For my gods have something which the world cannot give

Music that loops red and blue ribbons around the soul

The roses and violets of Mozart and Beethoven

They are the ones who possess what the moon desires

The candles flame, which lights the darkness,

For this is not a poem of fantasy, but reality, nothing less.

And while I do breathe the air to stay alive,

I would sooner hold my lungs still, before the absence of symphony,

For I am not a poet of words, but of sound.

   David Westlake

The Owl parts 1-4

 The Owl

Part1 - the butterfly’s

A beautiful soul, tortured and in the possession of music

les soi-disant belle a appelé lui laide

It speaks out the words of love through the lips of death

Music greater than god, to be present in a lonely man

With its twists and thrills, that take seize over me.

I am a moth amongst the butterflies of blue.

And the messiah, with his immortal beloved.

A life I live with the pain he felt,

Where the days are like years, and seconds like months.

His music will be our only escape,

Out of this so very dark and deep tunnel

They are known as the butterflies of blue

Their wings are of beauty, but their hearts are of black

                                                                                                                                                                                                               Part 2 – the roses

A mind of love, trapped behind a wall of self concept

le but de notre existence teinté par l'apparence

Through the gardens crafted from the love within his heart

It’s a beautiful song, filled with its subtle complexity

Tones that saw and roar! he says, “I set them down in notes.”

I am a weed amongst the roses of red,

And the Buddha, with his immortal beloved

The roses, they grow within the tunnel of darkness

Where the seasons are all stained with cynical morals.

Oh summer winter spring and fall

Imposters of truth and love

They are known as the roses of red

There petals are of beauty, but their souls are of dust.

Part 3 – the crow

A life that is of great compassion that exceeds all others

Échos de la musique grâce à notre âme

A kind of wisdom which cannot be heard through the ears,

but only with the heart.

This is the song the bird of purity has sung.

We are the owls amongst the black crows.

Ludwig van Beethoven and his immortal beloved

Will walk with me in the garden, outside the gates of depression

With the moths and weeds

It is us who live the life of purity

The music will remain our paint, for this dark colored canvas

We are known as the owls of symphony and knowledge.

 Our lives are lived in darkness, with our body’s that do not reflect our grace.

Part 4 – The Garden

The garden with all of its colors and smells

Filled with the moths, that hides behind the rocks and leaves

And all of the sounds that call to spirits,

That dwells within this green and red Eden

Will protect us from what you call beauty

For its has no soul, It is hollow

Like the butterfly’s of blue.

Their wings are of beauty, but their souls are of black

This is the desperate song of the Owl,

To wake you from your ignorance

Pour sa symphonie ne peut jamais mourir, ils sont l'alpha et l'oméga.

His music Is true beauty,

To all the ‘immortal beloveds”.

ROSES AND THE UNIVERSE

ROSES AND THE UNIVERSE

Alone staring into midnight, lying on a park bench

Surrounded by its red roses and trees of green

A sky painted of blue and purple, filled with stars

Isolated from the entire world, and all of its sound.

He begins to play,

Tonight I will be distant from others, but not alone.

We look into the soul of the universe, Mozart and I.

Das Klavierkonzert

My soul is released from the gates of restriction that we call perception

I begin to leave my body,

And take a ride on the checkerboard train

Under the stars that look like the souls of song

And through the red roses and trees of green,

een sterrenhemel, sterrenhemel middernacht

painted by the spirit Van gogh

my flesh left empty, under canvas painted reality

Nicht wach!! he says, do not awake!

My own personal messiah, “Walk with me in this garden“ and begins to play louder.

And the stars become brighter and the roses more red

While the sky turns to deep midnight purple

I am but a man riding with gods, frightened to open my eyes.

J’ai trouve ce que je suis a la recherche pour, birntot je vais ecrire la musique qui etait cache dans les profondeurs de mon ame d‘un tel longtemps, tres longtemps.

David James Westlake

Perception

Perception

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen

I enter nirvana

The violins, they are green

I can taste them as well

I wonder if Beethoven intended on this

It’s like walking through a garden

The cello, it’s purple

Just like moonlight sonata

This music is like a whole new world

One which I can only see

I’m sitting, watching my dad play guitar

Its maroon,

I remember the first time I noticed I was different

I thought I was crazy

The Beethoven Poem

Bewilderingly beautiful the dream I had last night.

Entered endless reflection of my soul.

Every night my mind surrenders to his sacred music.

The one who speaks the voice of god through notes.

Hours become thoughts that drift through my mind in symphony.

Occuper ma conscience et la remplit de l’amour.

V ictoriously he states “Musik ist mittler zwischen geistiger und sinnlicher leben”

Even when I am drowning, I will reach out for his hand of composition,

N ow that I have his Music embedded within my soul.