A Message of Love

May 20, 2011
The harp contorts peace into cobweb veins,
while broken chords swim through dreaming of day.
As guitars turn suns into sharp, dry rain,
the clarinet steels her beautiful rays.
Song sheets are hidden in my grey windowsills,
the sharps and minors playing a beat late.
Music’s jealousy may just rhyme with kill,
darkness is merely viola’s bate.
A dove’s voice implacable to blue jays,
a prayer’s speech more powerful than theirs.
The symphony plays in the crashing bay,
Streams the sand with such honesty and care.
As long as sheets of lyrics I can see,
a message of love sits inside of me.

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