Truth

poem

 

often, what swims the city is spirit

songs that flow like a warm wind
swooping through the cold framework.

the melody strikes stone and splits into

harmonies, raising gray pigeons from darkness,

flooding dead stone with blues and greens.

as lovers and haters sing life and death,

silhouettes battle; shadows make love,
children play and flickering lives find sleep.

 

tears paint hard faces soft; pageantry feigns

honesty and all hear the tune with fresh ears

and sleepy minds as the mighty conductor leads

 

them through spiraling crescendos, and hushed

melancholy madrigals of time and wear,

old voices fade, new voices soar; songs refuse to

 

fade in to silence:

even when the framework crumbles,

even when the silhouettes are scant,

even when pigeons won’t rise

 

music never subsides.

Author's Note

I have 3 dogs.

Reviews

[Gheeneil]

The choice of words is brilliant that it creates coherence and consistency, which then provides great imagery. Yes, the music continues to play hitherto. This is well-written.