Gravity
Turn tables are spinning out our destiny.
Each is measured against the drumbeats
Of our souls.
Perfect harmony cannot be created while
Our lives are compelled by such dissonant
Concussing.
We are strings vibrating in a dance of the bow.
We are each strum in time resonating
Thoughtfully.
Each twinkling of a hollow reed
Or Brazen coil’s cacophony of tones
That Ring.
Silence…a point when out song dies…
Each half-step slowly stumbling toward
Resolution.
Advertisements
Leave a Reply