None Of This Is Really Music Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

None of this is really music
Passing away
The rain in the streets
Disappearing down drains
The eclipse of the sun
At noonday
None of this really
Shines like a pearl
And then wavers
Too close to the edge
So that we weep, we weep inconsolably:
Eternity is dead
I would have said instead of music,
Anything at all than music Christ has bled
Christ has bled
But he is the music, else
All men were dead.
Mary angela douglas 5 february 2024