Poem 2-52

Muse called by saints,

To stain ink again,

Sheets barren but for staff,

Breath marks settling into grooves

Beside this spine, below the melody,

Pulling the strings which call,

To seduce those attuned,

Place the troubadour before mind, wind, baton.

The ink pours fervently,

Another score settling

Into a harmony known not before

It leaves the touch,

Resonates upon quavers,

Undulations of trembling wrists

Pulling élan forward,

Pushing esprit back,

To a fate destined by brass and piano wire.

And I want to be seduced,

I know this addiction.

It was too long ago to forget.

 

Reviews

[Touché Armada]

I really like this new write, its somewhat softer than the others and nice and musical, and perhaps reminds me of imagined moments, its simply dreamy which is always appealing.. the last two lines are great the last line is shear magic to me in any case, I think I might have to add this to my faves.. Just like it too much.