the sounds of music

When there are no words to describe your state that can be shifted and shaped into meaning,

When attempting to speak only makes living harder than it already is,

And even then speaking successfully leaves for wanting and lack thus

There is only one thing left that utters without words as clearly as road signs, landmarks and broken hearts,

the sounds of music.

----------------------------


The Four Muses (A work in progress)

One man alone with brush in hand
Can not paint the face of God
Can not change the way that people think
Or redefine art in the world

But there was once a man who tried
With brush and pen to define artistic love
Flanked by muses on each side his hand would
Dance and sing in ways unknown to man

Down the streets they exclaimed:
Who is this man
This young one
Who creates with such skill
Our hearts are moved, breathless
We stand waiting for another masterpiece


No man deserved such a gift of faithfulness and love
As given by those muses living in his head
So with his four companions along beside
He faithfully obliged the world with beauty before unseen

But soon the muses realized that as his creativity
Was four times greater than any before so
He was aging four times faster as well
Shocked, dismayed they fretted out a plan

Was the genius doomed to a young death the wondered

Who is this man
This young one
Who sings with such skill
Our hearts are moved, breathless
will this creation be his last?

A painting by another hand lacked intensity, meaning and life
A song by any other man was without the voice of angels
Even film obeyed his every command angles and lighting dancing
Words arranged on the page before his pen touched down

The story of success in every artistic endeavor
He couldn't paint the world fast enough
For his muses knew that they alone brought
his death faster than normal

Together they drew away from their love
One east, one west, one south and north
Parting to extend the life of the man
They treasured, swearing never to inspire another

Stagnant, he withdrew with memories and empty canvas

and they whispered

Who is that old man
Broken by failure
Silent in the corner
Now breathless from striving
to create the impossible