Music seen as the taming of the heart,
To turn its immense force to measured pulse,
To turn unsteady thought to structured speech,
To turn the empty space into a rest,
And so the tamed heart begets a song,
Transcending beautifully it's prior noise.

Baring down the hall and all its painted legions,
The puzzles hanging shattered in the dance of glass,
A hard face and fearsome sheen,
That turns from help to hidden blade,
That cuts the puzzle and opposer: I,
A fallen ringing deep within the ears,
A splitting pain from raking every corner of the mind,
The legions stand today but some lie fallen with the glass.

Clicking snaps layer like paper,
Flush against the squirming sound beneath,
They nudge the grass in swaying resonance,
Dancing to the grass-hopping tune,
These little critters play the wind,
With sprung legs and rocket boots,
Their muscles like pistols coughing steam from clicking joints.