[ WP ] You 're a composer with synesthesia . Describe your works without using sound .

( I decided to take the liberty of writing about a conductor/composer instead of a man who's solely the composer ) 
 
 The cavernous concert hall was dark, enveloping the audience in blackness, and focusing them on the stage with a brilliant light. I stepped to the podium, drawing my baton with a deep breath, calming the last of my hesitance. It is no small task, conducting one's own piece. For years I've slaved for this one moment, this one sliver of sand in the hourglass. Finally, I get to see it all come to fruition in the hands of the most talented people I have had the great fortune to lead. 
 
 All was silent in the black sea. The air was still. Five thousand people now fixed their eyes upon me. Me. Matthew Burrows. And who am I? Who am I to stand in Royal Albert Hall, where so many better than I have shared their greatness? I'm just a bloke who sees behind the curtain they're blinded with. I have no greatness to share, only the beauty of what I see in the music. 
 
 The lights dim. 
 
 I tap on the stand and sparks of white snap and trickle to the ground. My orchestra, my friends, now sit at attention, ready to begin. A slow motion of my hands brings a radiant orange from the arpeggiated D chord of the cellos. Like the dawn of a new day the wave of heat grazes my skin. I pity them, they will never feel past the cold. I turn slightly to the violins and they begin. Wisps of a royal blue fly through the black, illuminating the darkness of the night behind me. The flutes, starting with a magnificent lavender from the D, E flat, F and G, transported us to a hilltop. Closing my eyes, I could smell the flower and the ranges of purple tickled my face. The double basses followed with a heavy cloud of green which illuminated the ground like a blanket of summer grass, with a smell just as fine. And the violas with fair threads of yellow, filling even the darkest corners with light. The tempo begins to hasten, and the clarinets are introduced playing C major scale with a steady crescendo, like the feathers of sparrows every note grazed me and lifted the spirit of the room. Finally, the careful beat of the timpani awoke the life that lay sleeping in the dark. The translucent silhouette of paws and hooves dances along the stage with fur of turquoise and magenta. I felt their brush against my leg, I tasted the fresh air of the hilltop. 
 
 I pity them, they will never see past the dark.
