Thursday, September 14, 2006



The orchestra has assembled on this hill.
The soloist is persuasive,
sections bow in and out
in surges that touch and embrace.
Until that moment,
springing like an ambush,
a discordant note stresses the ear,
smacks of sound waves,
shocks of anxious tones.
It is not a clamour of clanging gongs
a smash of clattered cymbal
or a triangle out of tune
that distresses this melody.
It is not a percussive clout
hammer upon passive nail
jarred into submissive wood.
Neither do the wailing women
steal the musicality
within this orchestral life-song.
The flowing air becomes crimson passion
a sensational tide of emotion
breaching senses, drawing tears.
Then a solitary missed mark
steals the moment.

The contaminator of this chorale,
the pilferer of peace
within the absorbing harmonies
of graceful crescendo
the out of place note
is mine.
I turned away
when the conductor pointed
my opportunity to contribute,
where only I could fill that space,
a cock crowed in my stead.


Cami said...

The sorrow of Peter. It makes me think of all the bible characters we criticize in our youth, either chronologically or being young in Christ; we may be blind the part in us that would have failed just as miserably if we had been in their shoes. The sacrifice of Christ, God's amazing forgiveness...we all desperately need it.

I.I. said...

nice picture; again it fits.