The Melody
May 31, 2013 § 2 Comments
Somewhere a note was plucked, began to ring,
and I thought if I could learn to sing…
if I could carry a tune sweeter than mild
I might not sound so much a broken child.
I learned a note. I learned a chord.
I learned so much more than I could afford.
I could key a sound and I could strum;
so, I raised my glass to the drum.
I was dancing to my own wild beat.
Who knew you knew the placement of feet.
Who knew the world knew what I knew
and we were all playing it through.
I wrote my own lyrics, wrote my own tunes.
I sang until my voice was in bitter ruins.
I picked up the trumpet. I mastered the flute.
I even learned to play some pitiful, old lute.
I learned the sounds of a thousand delusions
and to mimic the sanity behind my confusion.
I laughed aloud for all and in silence, I cried.
I lived as if the melody never died, never lied.
Then from somewhere a voice rose across the winds.
I heard the desperate cries only despair lends.
I picked up a pen and I put it to paper.
That fresh rhythm was a crisp new caper.
I thought, if I could learn that spoken word,
I might honestly — truly and really — finally be heard.
Across that page, a broken child darted.
And over it began. And over it started.
Very nice. I especially liked the lines “I learned the sounds of a thousand delusions
and to mimic the sanity behind my confusion.” Seems that’s what we do to cope
I’m sorry, John. This didn’t seem to show up until recently. That or I’ve missed it, which is most likely.
Thank you for the response. We do mimic to cope. I imagine, in some ways, this is how a normality comes to be – something that most do, though it may or may not be truly normal.