Sunday, September 2, 2012

There is freedom in silence

The idle strings begin to rust--
go out of tune as knobs unwind--
while dust collects on carvèd wood
and horsehairs break from base of bow.

No pattern does the eye seek out,
nor theme the ear desires to trace--
the body casts off every form
that chained the soul from listening.

Their nimble touch the fingers lose,
and mind forgets the ordered notes;
the feet a meter cease to keep,
but heart comes loose of music's weight.

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