Behind the birth of a disheartened chorus
the uncertain halt the strings whose chords
shade our last remains of fortitude.
Scheming to play a symphony on a ledge
so high that you can’t see the ground.
Gravity pulls me closer, and I come crashing
to the constructed boards of another’s home,
just as the base of a bridge falls to the song of
a precious, melodic songbird.
I’ve been cursed by immortality and a vague
sense of heartbreaking sacrifices.
From a thin thread hanging from a quilt ten
miles away, they sharpen their sense of
direction and compromise.
Even, if only for a second, I could hide in the
hollow pedals they so dearly care for,
I will still face the wrath of the ruins that drive
even the humble to hell.
Ignorance is no fatality worth taking advantage
of in a world so increasingly compelled.
Façade so rich into lies that it will reap the smiles
from our noble faces.
In silence we struggle to deny logic of knowing
a symphonist’s greatest masterpiece is lying
in our minds, and only in our minds will they find it.