Pavarotti sings Caruso
On a 55 inch screen
Its a misty Summer evening
Too early yet to dream.
The conducter in a frock coat
Orchestra it plays
Flowers in the concert hall
The image it stays.
Locked in his vision
Reflecting from his eyes
Floating like a cloud
Upon wing a butterfly.
The room of many photographs
Moments frozen time
Framed in metal prisons
Half forgotten, half sublime.
A few more drinks
Lead to Nessum Dorma
Drunken eyes like lead
The butterfly has left
Through open window
Time to rest his head.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: August 7th, 2025 02:11
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 28
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy, Damaso
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Comments2
A nice flow to this poem that includes a nice pick for the song as sleep is coming along. A fun read
appreciated, thanks
You are welcome
Your poem beautifully captures how music can become a vessel for memory, longing, and transformation. It reminds me that even in stillness, our minds are alive with images and emotions that sing long after the final note.
very kind, thanking you, appreciated
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