by Karyn Huntting Peters
Music. Silent sleeping in tombstones
of forgotten graveyards, quietly breathing in
voiceless statues as they stare without
eyes along worn boulevards trod once
by laughing youth and tearful love.
O thief of all mother tongues! Language
seeping through cracks in finest mortar
between all peoples to bind beating
hearts afar in timeless passion and
angst for words without home.
Music! Incessantly tapping at some
tiny fortress within, louder and stronger in
adagio as its tendrils reach with a practiced
whisper into tired souls as they seek
only night's air and dreamless slumber.
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