Where the Solo’s Play Together

 

 

My heart has played a melancholy tune,

It’s deep, mesmerising existing on prolonged

Internal phrases of sorrow,

No time kept by metronome,

     It moves slowly,

The centre no more or less louder

Than beginning but the end,

The end of all tomorrows

Softly diminishes in volume,

Fading out, fading out.

 

Musical arrangements –

No longer deserve a stage to play

For we are all in essence;

All the same, all the same,

     We want what we cannot have

And are given only scant acknowledgement

Of our existence,

And noise drowns out

The quietest of violins

As mourning,

No-one cares,

No-one cares.

 

We are all taught to shout,

Taught to say it loud –

Louder than the next

Till the sweetest soprano

Lies dead – buried underneath,

And that little voice

We all once were has gone,

Passed on and wondering

What life is for,

What is it really all about?

 

     I had a voice that could

Sing a lonely cry,

I had a voice that could lull

A silent night to celebrate,

But now it’s hoarse,

Coarse like the rattle of a death bell,

And as I rasp away the days

And wonder where has the

Voice of loneliness gone

As we all shout together,

     I know it is still there –

Tired from its plea just to be

Listened and understood,

And I’m walking away from

The cacophony that we all

Know so well,

The cacophony that drowns

The sweetest soprano,

And like a sparrow accompanying

A King-fisher;

I’ll sing again,

Sing again -

But not yet for,

Only when I’m dead –

I’ll be alive,

Just like everybody else.

 

 

Michael J Waite 17^th December 2012.