Music

Music...

It's our words given wings

to fly above the clouds,

higher than the rainbows,

taller than the treetops.

A blind man's eyes who stream with tears

when he first hears every colour

in a vast expanse of nothingness.

When all the world has faded,

every dream has fallen,

hearts are broken

and even loved ones turn to dust...

strings begin to sound within

and clean up all the rust.

Then suddenly you're whole again

for those precious few...

moments in which even pain and sorrow

has a handsome view.

Our hearts begin to beat to an unknown rhythm,

led by a conductor who unseen

pulls us along some five rowed lines we've

never seen and may never see again...

And just as we find hope again we reach

a dotted line...

The music stops.

We turn around

and round

and look for more,

needing,

begging,

wanting just a final mote of string or harp to calm our soul.

But the music has now ended

and never shall return,

because the piece is over

and it's now another's turn.

And good thing too because a concert's never done

before our glorious conductor turns and gives a bow,

and we with him too.

An audience of air, of wind

and birds and trees though may it be,

round beads of water streaming down our cheeks because

in that one moment we let ourselves be weak

and cast off those chains of strength and will.

We were weak,

and so were beautiful,

like a song that's long remembered

and will forever be...