The Sound Poem by Chana Peake

Fingers strum along the strings so melancholy, that the world stops, and strains to hear the sadness being played. Happiness stops to listen, and all creation stops to cry. A finger rests on one note, another strikes an eternal soft, low scream, that even the wind dies down, and the earth feels sadness.Such a deep, prolonging sound of the uttermost despair and sadness. the rivers cease to run, the tree's cease to grow tall, and bend with the sadness in their souls, the animals curl up in sadness and despair, and hide their faces. The grass ceases to sway, for it now will rust a beautiful brown and it will remain untended. the humans will be filled with the uttermost loss, and their hearts will break, or rather even sink. they shall cry no cry of hope, and they will utter the tune of death. no cry of love shall be heard, but the wave of hate will sweep on the through, there will be no abundant strength, for even that is overpowered, ceases to exist. the sun will dim with every hit of pain, and the stars will dim with every intake of despair. breathing will cease, and life will never be known. Silence will overdose every crack and corner, and there will be no place to hide. Tears will fall
as red as blood, and flow as easily as water drips its cry of tears. Life will lose its grasp, and every mind will cease to work.
Fingers will strum and strum... with an eternal rhythm of the sound being played....