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This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
    Like a huge *****, rise the burnished arms;
But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing
    Startles the villages with strange alarms.

Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,
    When the death-angel touches those swift keys!
What loud lament and dismal Miserere
    Will mingle with their awful symphonies!

I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,
    The cries of agony, the endless groan,
Which, through the ages that have gone before us,
    In long reverberations reach our own.

On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer,
    Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman’s song,
And loud, amid the universal clamor,
    O’er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong.

I hear the Florentine, who from his palace
    Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din,
And Aztec priests upon their teocallis
    Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent’s skin;

The tumult of each sacked and burning village;
    The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns;
The soldiers’ revels in the midst of pillage;
    The wail of famine in beleaguered towns;

The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder,
    The rattling musketry, the clashing blade;
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder
    The diapason of the cannonade.

Is it, O man, with such discordant noises,
    With such accursed instruments as these,
Thou drownest Nature’s sweet and kindly voices,
    And jarrest the celestial harmonies?

Were half the power, that fills the world with terror,
    Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts,
Given to redeem the human mind from error,
    There were no need of arsenals or forts:

The warrior’s name would be a name abhorred!
    And every nation, that should lift again
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead
    Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain!

Down the dark future, through long generations,
    The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease;
And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations,
    I hear once more the voice of Christ say, “Peace!”

Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals
    The blast of War’s great ***** shakes the skies!
But beautiful as songs of the immortals,
    The holy melodies of love arise.
Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav’ns joy,
Sphear-born harmonious Sisters, Voice, and Vers,
Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ
Dead things with inbreath’d sense able to pierce,
And to our high-rais’d phantasie present,
That undisturbed Song of pure content,
Ay sung before the saphire-colour’d throne
To him that sits theron
With Saintly shout, and solemn Jubily,
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row
Their loud up-lifted Angel trumpets blow,
And the Cherubick host in thousand quires
Touch their immortal Harps of golden wires,
With those just Spirits that wear victorious Palms,
Hymns devout and holy Psalms
Singing everlastingly;
That we on Earth with undiscording voice
May rightly answer that melodious noise;
As  once we did, till disproportion’d sin
Jarr’d against natures chime, and with harsh din
The fair musick that all creatures made
To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway’d
In perfect Diapason, whilst they stood
In first obedience, and their state of good.
O may we soon again renew that Song,
And keep in tune with Heav’n, till God ere long
To his celestial consort us unite,
To live with him, and sing in endles morn of light.
smallhands Jul 2014
The white flag
collected colour
once he entered
the room

-cj
Jonathan May 2013
Joy, shifts through my fingers, displaying true diapason
To all earth bound quality, I find truth in thw whispering wind,
Singing all true paroxysm of chaos into one binding solidarity.
For why I have benn this far? Faught this hard, Unmoved, swayed
By the pestamistic animals rotting away in this system of survival
Farther than the eye can see we run in hope of flourishing past our own beliefs.
A piviotal concept it is,  runing for deeper understanding and merriment
when the amaurotic people choose to not see it was in your hands the whole time.
I dont know the whole point of this piece is to help grasp that the manifastation of happiness is with you from the start.
David R Oct 2021
Cloak'd in verdant green,
Wrapp'd in royal blue
Finest golden sheen
From crown o' shining hue

Face as burnished prism
Gushing grace aglow
With acts of altruism
Rushing to and fro

Radiating hospitality
Welcome to humanity,
In tender, softness, sympathy
Kindness, good-will 'n charity.

Sweetest music o' rauschpfeife  
Fills a world aswarm
As he sows the seeds of life,
As he breathes sentient form,

Whilst in quietest corner
Soars transparent spirit
Rays o' purple adorn her
Fires of sweetest merit

In a space of nothingness
In centre of sensual emptiness
Yearns for soul of all-thing-ness
Yearns for grace of no-thing-ness

For that hidden Seed of Soul
Who treads unseen in silence
Who is the Whole that fills the hole
The place of spirit subsidence

In the darkness of the night
Far from starkness o' crass light
Wrapped in black, mind aflame,
Takes her leave, takes to flight

So these two opposing sides,
Intransigent as moon divides
Sea from sand in cyclic tides
Each with lords and angel guides

Till He saw that it was good
And so created harmony
Peace between the outer hood
And inner returning fervency.
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge
#intransigent
Across a looking glass pond -
facing zephyr music revelry
Atop paint-by-number artworks , leaves
in brotherhood with perfect rainbows ,
shine on midday tall 'Lantern of God' ,
ruminations of a change in season , of
eventide convocations with the North Star
and frosted narrows , October operas of
wind carillon and songbird , golden bottom
land misty coming of nightfall , the sconce
of The Little Dipper and Orion , of woodland
diapason , timely Whipporwill and Thrush* ...
Copyright September 30 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Kiera Jun 2019
i move in silence

tip
toe
you can't hear me
tip
toe

i move in silence

a kaleidoscope of faces
unrecognizable
blurs in a humanoid shape
the only difference
between them
is the occasional color change
or hat

i move in silence

voices merge
and become loud
bass-boosted noises
no longer human
but mechanical

i move in silence

each step i take
meticulously placed
like a child
walking on stepping stones
over-exaggerated motions

i move in silence

even my voice is inaudible
the air moves past my vocal chords
but no sound accompanies it
i am reticent

i move in silence

bodies shove me aside
until i eventually reach
a wall
it's at this point
i give up
and collapse upon the marble

tears begin to form
as i feel more discouraged
i battle against them
but
my tears always win
in the end

i sit on the floor
a shell-shocked ball
mute
and alone

you move with music

a melody cascades from you
rivulets of aria
dripping from your shoes

you move with music

you don't recognize the faces either
you move too fast for them
they don't hear your song
and you wouldn't care either way

you move with music

you aren't walking
each footfall is not a promenade
but a dance
no
not a dance
you move like i
but
instead of precise movements
you skip
like a child would
across the playground

you move with music

i could hear your diapason
from the wall
i saw you
differently from the others
an untouchable paragon

i found your eyes
you found mine
i felt my heart stop
for no one had seen me
until you

your music changed
it was no longer a simple chime
but a complex arrangement
but still just as rich and ethereal

you broke from the current
weaving between personages
like it was rehearsed
my eyes were fixated on you
i was curious
and afraid
why were you approaching me?
is it a misunderstanding?

i averted my eyes
i assumed that
i was not your objective
but
indeed
i was

you approached me
and i looked up
facing you
you kneeled
and took my hand
and told me
"Let's go."

i used to move in silence

but now
our combined melody
is a chant
a rallying cry
an anthem
for anyone whose ears
can hear it

i used to move in silence

now all i hear is music
Within the Crescent City the confluence of architect , engineer , master carpenter  and laborer combined , precision  , create a cascading sea of individual notes and three bold harmonious divisions ,wind chest , regulator and tremolo breathe life into reed , flaute ,vox humana and diapason pipe of all sizes , large and small ...
Her towering facade , en chamade with a voice of the Almighty, so stands this mechanical wonder of wood  , metal , cloth , leather.. For this tonal masterpiece will stand the test of time not for song , but as a testament to the imagination , wisdom  and determination of her creators !.....
Copyright October 2 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved        The installation of the pipe ***** at  New Orleans First Baptist Church.
Through the window I stare
Blanket on my lap, coffee in my hand
Diapason of love playing in the air
Though my mind is centered on the deluge of November

Not a drizzle, more than a storm has the month been
Emotions strike forcibly and incessant
Lives upended and carried away
Like rose petals flowing down the street.

All are affected, none left safe
From death to labor, souls are changed
I wonder why the times are so turbulent
Though it does little to stop the deluge of November

— The End —