top of page

Concerto Road


The world you know in fragile octaves floats

Upon the tune of time and happenstance

Dark past and dimming future are the notes

No melody, but music formed by chance

And all that seems of purpose disappears

And all that's left is accident and whim

The music conjures forth your barest fears

A faithless, hopeless, blank, unholy hymn

A road, like printed note, provides no choice

It goes from here to there and never brakes

Your feet are now the instruments of voice

And you conduct the course the music takes

Command them now, the notes, the chords, the key

Become at last what you were born to be...

Comentários


Featured Posts
Recent Posts
Search By Tags
No tags yet.
bottom of page