Just let the darkness come,
If it can't be helped; let it come soon:
Let it remove your too familiar touch
From the rippling canvas of my heart's hesitations.
Erase too, all the moments that were stolen,
Borrowed from the quotas of the innocent-
Remove the malfeasance of pleasure, that was given in error.
Replace with a blank face, the soul's colorless artifact,
Of what was once you-
And then we must forget the words; already fading now,
And if even the memory can no longer bear itself,
Let it fade, like that instrument
That by accident, or on purpose
Is the last voice heard, at the concert's end; the one
That reminds the audience, as they rise to leave
That however much you try to control
The music and power of humanity's emotions,
It can always break free again,
Even though no one ever expects it.
And though it's not supposed to be heard then,
After the show is done; the musicians busy packing up their black bags,
It sends it's echo, far into the empty aisles, it's voice bouncing
From surface to surface, in the lofty building's sky
As if it longed to keep singing it's own voice forever,
In a kind of animated, directionless passion, maybe to continue
Until even the theater succumbed, and itself fell down broken,
To collapse the stage; to crush whatever was left of the velvet seats.
But if there's nobody left to notice it,
We can always pretend the lonely cry never came;
That there never was a sound, at the evening's conclusion,
And no attention will be focused, and no pity stirred up
For the careless musician, and his oddly moaning string.