Without Music (Poetry)

Someone else can work out the tune for life —
my notes are too-far scattered —
and pitch is subject to doubt — varies with the mood.

Sweet harmony is shy of all the clash and clatter
of every day — always now more drum than hum
so discord tends to overrule all attempts
at creating any kind of soothing symphony.

Always too much noise — invariably too loud —
the rhythms rise up ugly and competing —
strident — aggressive as a war on silence —
the subtle rest between bars eroded
by a bullish stream of sound...

The very atoms in the air register their turmoil —
elements vibrate unnaturally — rub raw
against the ear forced into hearing
all the jar and off-key screech that so offends
the quieter strains of melody.

Those who hear music in the crashing waves applaud
the ocean’s orchestrated rock and roll
and appreciate the wildly choral operatic gale
yet are deafened by the tumult —
the inescapable and uncouth racket — that tone-deaf wail
that issues from the local rabble’s mouth.