Those ceaseless sounds
they continue to amaze
everlong as there shall
be praise.
Yes, lets giveth praise,
For music is the pantheon
which humanity hath raised.
Humans
construct their own narratives.

We are shrouded in these tales,
Each of us wearing our thoughts
woven from the cloth of memory
by the will of a dreamweaver,
And you, the dreamer/speaker.

No wonder the old gods fade, their notes replaced
with these stories we tell ourselves by the light
of day 'til night comes and again it's swept away
by storytellers who emerged from the dark
to practice their art and sing songs of new gods
which we raise up, construct, stitched like robes
we are clothed in these thoughts as our personae
roam, dramatis indeed, theatrically we seek/seeth;

Psychaé
wandering.