Underneath it all, the everything of my days,
Time, timbre, tempo, tone skillfully scored,
Upon the tablet, the clef of my heart,
Playing the treble, then again on bass,
Tickling, fleeting notes like praise;
Brings dancing to feet; brings singing to voice.
Music to my ears; color for my eyes; sweet on my tongue;
All is possible, with harmony and dissonance.
Perfect juxtaposition; give and take; calm and boisterous.
Lived to the hilt; embracing everything and nothing.
Sweet symphony! Life!
Breathe in…breathe out.
Playful rhythms thrum my mind, like river’s current;
Trilling minutes trip away as water over fall;
Dribbling in agony, the seconds sometimes will,
Dribbling in agony, an hour wanting to fill;
Other days swooping minutes fly fast;
Fly fast minutes, no shadows to cast!
Whether perceived or not, time does pass;
Whether perceived or not, time does cadence
Its perfection the percussion of marching,
Its perfection the marching, no end its knowing!
Can you hear it? Do you perceive it? Feel it do you not?
The music of the sphere?
Am I alone, in this wonder to partake?
A witness solitaire, to the rhythms on the air;
See it expand; notice its contraction; behold its height, width, depth.
Its percussive beat syncs with my every breath.