They are dry, and they might cause the skin to crack.
As timeless as the elements we share,
And as powerful as the thoughts we would forestall.
They lack gracious talent,
And they bind their hearts to the earth.
Nothing swells within them but scorn,
And it is fear that cues their march.
It is a march to invade, a march to pursue,
A march without hope, but with terrible, malevolent, repressive drive.
They have fashioned the hands to hold and hands to squeeze.
They have undone every joy within their siblings' heart.
It trembles and stops.
It trembles and stops.
Listen.
It raises again the air to blow...
They keep it prisoner in their vaults
Of hopeless wonder and teething jealousy.
It is a melody torn from ancient lips,
Bound with invisible straps of greed.
Noiseless, insane and furious greed
Does fuel each one to tear!
Ripped each way with foreceps large
And strangled till immobile.
Poison! Poison! Poison corrupts its rhythm
And makes it halt and stutter painfully - exhausted.
Ache not! Oh, melody divine!
Stop the suffering and wounding captivity!
Break free to the air if you can.
Sneak to some other's mind,
And flit about till voicing you proceeds.
As a charm to us all you must come about and stay.
Away from those who would not share you.
Who would hoard you and profit from you
And release you time after time by the inch.
Indeed they would kill you if they could not possess you.
This vicious nonsense has traveled too far!
It must end without deliberation or debate.
There is no calamity worse than
The death of a song and the silence that follows.
No comments:
Post a Comment