Fingers trace vibrating lines.
Successive chords obedient
to the stroking master’s hand.
This music’s delivery
berates the possibility
of peace in this foreign land.
Written between the lines of
a stave that traces a story
charted in black and white
I fade in the spaces
where sounds erupt and cover me
waiting the falling of night.
Then, hearing that rasping voice
it cheats me of a peaceful rest
as words break out like thunder;
arpeggios wrench my heart
while slender notes string themselves out
and tear my soul asunder
