Awakening.
Wondering,
what is the point to feeling?
Melodic mixing of twisted meanings begin
the concert of emotions, or lack thereof.
Seeming, too darkly loud and empty of harmony,
brazen squawks of hooting horns, shrill cymbalic symbolism
shreds the silence of caring, lonely aria, flattened.
Dicsordancy flourishes baton of day’s song,
madly orchestrated, crazily paced, whipping away at strings
too fragile to accommodate life’s crescendos,
sawing and plucking,
blatting booms pounding peace of balanced mind until...
the instrument breaks,
and calming interlude is out scored, as
symphonic cacophony settles into
rhythmic malady
of moods.

Erin Moen
8/5/02
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