And only sometimes,
The walls crack and
Blessings, an ode to the Silent—
All who see it—by which all do see it,
See its sound, round the feet that start to tap, to
Symphonies, to newer worlds than ours.
Resonating upon these empty halls,
Orchestrated by voices,
Never slurred or sharpened or slid so often:
Elegiac or elegied. We are uncertain.
The walls break, though,
And burst forth bounty
Letting ring amongst masses
(That which we whisper afterwards)
Originating light, itself, beaconing
Newspapers, narrowed eyes, nocturne night-owls
Across, around ticks and boxes, circled, crosses, texts, and line-borders
Resonating upon our empty halls, walls, all;
Poco a poco, almost piano, punctuating,
Odes to joy and a chorale for something—
We break down our own walls
and bring forth
A simple exercise involving the simple concept of music as a metaphor for something, and how we are all connected despite our differences.