Sound To Music

It is beautiful to be in a place
a place has stability mostly missed
by we who move between them
for a chance to sit then forgetting it.

Sensationalism turns the tired head
away from the silence of its battles
teasing it towards some fireworks
we are congenitally distractable.

Our fickle ears give up half way
where water can be heard begging
questions about its trickling intentions
but in a circle down turns around.

Finally sat by unopened necessity
in a spot where past is naked
looking ahead to an intersection
all we ever decided jots notes.

Unreplaced untarnished the originals
ordered like bars on our xylophones
play the seriously fundamental
notes belonging to our wanderings.

If we gaze along where our happless feet
rise up into the hills covered with clouds
will this be the direction of our flight
away from sound into music?

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About mrsorenson

all over the place
This entry was posted in poem, poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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