It is not the roads that we have lost
That leave us blinkered and aimless.
It is the songs.
It is not the gold we have given away
That leaves us impoverished and hungry.
It is the songs.
Left silent without even echoes.
The body’s rhythm stuttered,
The heart’s reason stultified.
We have gathered, huddled in silent cities,
Upright, efficient, vague and unmoved.
No tides of song, no roaring winds of song,
No rising hearts, no heat.
Never lost in the making of names.
Never tangled in the fleeting syllables.
No lilt, no catch, no net, no praise.
No meaning that dives deep below meaning
And feeds the spirits of the dead and of other places.
No offered breath, no chant that infuses hours with timelessness.
The electric hum of compliance.
The drone of automatic equilibrium.
White noise of dissolving passion.
Quietly waiting an end to tedious static.
–
simonhlilly 
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