Instrumentality

A Poem

I play
soft
and loud.

And what I play—
it encompasses everything:
all sounds and colors,
seen and unseen,
heard,
unheard.

For all—
but I am by myself,
in solitude,
utterly alone.

The heart
on the sleeve,
yet locked inside its sanctum;
I hide
as much as I reveal,
just like the gods I play.

The gods played the lyre
and plucked the strings of hearts,
while I strike many, many more:
more harmonious,
more dissonant,
deeper,
harsher,
harder.
Cacophonous,
or else sublime,
and whispering:
a water nymph’s seductive solfeggio...

For the corners of her mouth
are tantalizing,
And she draws you in
to drown in her beauty,
to be made lonely,
melancholy,
human—not divine.
Not bestial either.
Tearful, in a word:
for the flood of sound she pours—
that drowns the soul—
rises from the eyes.

You are to hear through sight
and see through sound.
The strings are pulled,
the hammers struck,
the chords ring out;
thus moved and clasped by sound
you see—and yet go blind,
and drown,
and die,
and then you are reborn.

Oh musa musicale!
I am your willing worshipper.
Grant me steady motion,
a seeing ear and clarity,
an overflowing heart
to share your melody,
to make the world
filled with wonder,
aching with strength,
charged with life—
yet calm,
and true.
May I perform
and not perform,
reveal
and veil.

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I regularly publish poetry, prose, music, and more.
All crafted with care and intention.