Instrumental Change

Memories of a broken heart

As time goes by, does the sound of the heartsong change?

Is silence worse than the mis-strung chord?
Than mediocrity or melancholy minors?
What of other melodies melting in?

Call me Tone Deaf, but I miss the sound. Silence is always worse.

When our electric chorus shifted
And the pitch came loud and shrill
Our tears let water wet the wires
Cut our song from scream to nil.

Maybe now we’re carved of wood, of tree
Of growth and softer things.
We’re warped, ingrained, but flexible
We’re witty, gnarled, free.

Maybe now we’re stretched like skin, like hide
Both past lives framed anew.
We’re canvas taut ‘cross empty bowls
We’re pelts made loud with pride.

Maybe now there is no sound
Or just a single, solo song;
The echoes of a baritone
That keep me up to sing along.

I know there’s nothing left to say
I know that echo’s counterfeit.
But I can’t turn the volume down
No escape to self acquit.

I’ll stroll along this pensieve deep
Humming high and low for miles
Until harmony comes a’ whistlin’ back
Or 'til time my ears defiles.