I like the realization
of a written note to sound-
a sorrowful resounding
vibration, soul-bound.
Suddenly, I am lost
in music so loud
it whispers in my ear
something quite profound.
Suddenly, I realize
that my hands produce
no vibrations, no sound
and my existence is reduced
to an empty desolate dessert
lacking the nurture of rain,
the mercy of clouds.
We relish in these games:
Let's not rehash the truth.
Why don't you play?
Why don't you sing along?
Why don't you throw the die?
When it tumbles-
teetering the edge
you dive
slipping down a slope
slick with lies.
Your hands clinch-
a near miss
Your shirt drips,
your smile fades,
your head hangs
low in the shame.
This new flower
blossoming black and blue
is now closed to you-
black swallowtail
bringer of beautiful charms.
This new fire
burning black and blue
is now engulfing you.
Wings, now charred and ashed and broken.
Still beautiful.
Still charming.
A new flower
blossoms black and blue
unaware of your beauty
unaware of your charms.
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