Friday, April 26, 2024

a poem about making music

Mid-40s, playing guitar
 
Dissonance and distortion hid subtlety
And, subtly, dissonance and distortion hid
I got old, and I believed I would
But did not feel it until it happened
Music roams
  home roams never to mine
Now I have no sound other than
  what the sound is
    of passing time