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Beautiful Static MAG
I sat this morning by my window,
watching a small insect struggle toward the top,
the brim, possibly to freedom,
or so it thought.
I suspect I wanted to reach out
and touch the thing - as if to connect myself with the surreal -
a tiny, living, beating thing.
I thought, “How small the heart must be.”
Suddenly, I was aware that I had been blindly staring,
static running through my ears.
This static, however, had a different sound.
One that rose and fell, was sad and mournful ...
A dark orchestra of my own compulsion.
Images rose of violins, cellos, and passionate, weeping musicians,
walking through the door of my thoughts
and settling down for the first of many symphonies.
The fear that this emotion would not last clouded my vision for only a moment -
a reverential feeling I had for
My music overwhelmed such fear
and drove me further into unwavering, joyous silence.