Literature
Music (Poem)
Death plays the cello,
Satan plays the flute,
The people are loud,
But God is mute,
With a pluck of the string,
The Universe is made,
String theory is born,
And the foundations are laid,
Life can now flourish,
In the web of time,
Where its harmonious notes,
Are to some, divine,
Until life itself becomes,
The only musician,
And creates for itself,
The ultimate composition,
The one composition,
To outshine them all,
And yet it was life,
That started so small,
But the cycle repeats,
The tune plays again,
The created learn to play,
And their creator's song ends,
Thus old instruments die,
But the song keeps playing,
Until the silence comes,
Bruises do not work that way! Good night!