The Music

“The Music”

Music plays that I cannot soliloquize
Into speech—I carry a mute concept
Where my old self is locked in years
That no longer pass—the seasons there
Are locked in wind, and rain, and subdued melodies.

I do not recognize myself behind my eyes
Where so many gods have been thinking:
What do I say among such divinity?
Or is it that I am just a thought passing
From one cell to another until I disappear?

My heart is falling into dust….
Was it ever my own, or was it theirs’
To provide my former mind as a haven
For parasites that have become friends
In this lonely year that shall be long ago
In a solitary tomorrow that I cannot reach
Without longing for their thoughts to end?
I want to leave…and never come home…
But they are always following me.

Ignoring the flame as I am burning,
In an oasis of poison—I must drink.
My throat is dry, and they are screaming
Among the thoughts I can’t call my own
Trying to keep the Damned from feasting
On the Blessed—a shred of what was.
I’m afraid they know, as I don’t know
Where I keep my secret wounds—
If I only could shed into my spirit
You might see the things I carry—
That go unspoken, save in circles
Inside of the cells I’m chained in:
In halves—sentenced to carry
The burdens of yesteryear
Of things that died long ago
But still live behind the veil
Of mourning you cannot see
Over the face you do not know.
My light is dimming…who is the inheritor
If not a Deity of the Disease
That is the music I cannot share?

© 2022 Marten Hoyle