Mary Spain Poems
|41.||The Prisoner's Wife||8/2/2006|
|43.||Homes Or Gardens?||8/4/2006|
|45.||The Phoenix Needs The Ashes||8/7/2006|
|47.||How Thomas Felt||8/1/2006|
|51.||I'M Sitting Here...||8/5/2006|
|52.||An Early Night||7/31/2006|
|54.||A Deaf Musician||8/5/2006|
A Deaf Musician
As though a deaf musician, I am part
Of some great orchestra I cannot hear.
The only notes that fall upon my ear
Are those which rise unbidden from the heart
And offer teasing glimpses of the art
Of harmony. Yet have I heard, in clear,
Still moments of perception, what appear
As distant drum-beats; pulses that impart
A rhythm to the cosmic melody.
Then, with a quick'ning joy, I see that I
Am moving to creation's symphony.
As birds that wheel and dart across the sky
To secret music, so it seems that we
Can sometimes see the patterns as we fly.
At times it feels as though I'm trapped below
The slatted floor of heaven. Fleetingly,
I glimpse an angel's foot, or what might be
The shadow of a trailing wing, and know
There's something overhead. And yet, although
I'd love to join their distant company,
The dust and darkness of captivity
Enfeeble ears and eyes and overthrow
The will. Unaided, I can't penetrate