Consider Music
The drumbeats of the past echo fainter
Anxious to mingle with a new melody
A burst of song that originated in one land
A single blast of horns in the wood
Resonated all through the world
From a city, to another, in awful majesty
The forces proclaiming a new reality...
...only to quiet down into a murmur...
Consider the melody of where I am
It is a suffering love song of a woman in pain
Of a man yearning for a lost love
It pines, pines...and pines again
And sometimes it is an aria of dawn
A promise of something better
However, it dies once again...
...into the same bitter yearnings...
Consider the discordant tunes far away
Of too many voices and instruments playing
Each in its own babble, lovely disharmony
Oh how well celebrated, and how duly scorned
One seeks to cancel out the other
One note rising to overpower the rest
And the song rips itself apart...
Consider the sheet of theories
That hold much promise in the ink
That seek for one to take them in hand
And then breathe in the life
Oh how maligned is the thought and pen
There is nothing wrong in the framework
Save when it or the substance is twisted...
...into the grotesque jangling of chords...
Consider the screams of those awaiting
In their raw, anguished yearning
Each appalling song is something to be learned
And a cry to be addressed
If someone could uplift them from their confusion
And show them a proper place in the firmament
And give their passion the guiding hand...
...what music could this world play?
...what times could we await?
...what dawn could we look for?
Anxious to mingle with a new melody
A burst of song that originated in one land
A single blast of horns in the wood
Resonated all through the world
From a city, to another, in awful majesty
The forces proclaiming a new reality...
...only to quiet down into a murmur...
Consider the melody of where I am
It is a suffering love song of a woman in pain
Of a man yearning for a lost love
It pines, pines...and pines again
And sometimes it is an aria of dawn
A promise of something better
However, it dies once again...
...into the same bitter yearnings...
Consider the discordant tunes far away
Of too many voices and instruments playing
Each in its own babble, lovely disharmony
Oh how well celebrated, and how duly scorned
One seeks to cancel out the other
One note rising to overpower the rest
And the song rips itself apart...
Consider the sheet of theories
That hold much promise in the ink
That seek for one to take them in hand
And then breathe in the life
Oh how maligned is the thought and pen
There is nothing wrong in the framework
Save when it or the substance is twisted...
...into the grotesque jangling of chords...
Consider the screams of those awaiting
In their raw, anguished yearning
Each appalling song is something to be learned
And a cry to be addressed
If someone could uplift them from their confusion
And show them a proper place in the firmament
And give their passion the guiding hand...
...what music could this world play?
...what times could we await?
...what dawn could we look for?
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