In the absence of orchestras, a congregation gathers.
The silence resonates, vibrating against unseen walls.
In every heart, a metronome beats in solitude,
Synchronizing with the unspoken dialogue of souls.
Here, solemnity is not an absence, but a presence; potent and profound.
Whispers of marble columns embrace the void,
Each crease speaking volumes in volumes of quiet.
Silence stands, a figure of esteem,
Eclipsing the thunderous applause of imaginary strings.
What symphonies await the ear that listens without longing?
The symposium table bears not banquet nor brimming chalice,
But fragments of thoughts — far more filling.
Gather them, the humble notes,
And weave a tapestry of resonant tranquility.
For here lies the music, not in notes, but in the blank measure.