but what am i, without an instrument

I can tempt your fascination with tales of divinity and
ethereal music dripping from the sky like a spring shower,
washing the horizon white and leaving puddles for
the little ones of yesteryear in which to splash and laugh.
I can play your imagination with the deft fingers of
a ancient harpist, strumming melodies worthy of immortality and
an audience with the protégée children of Aristocles’ Republic,
that utopian city of perfect moral and justice.
And you will be so enrapt in the potential of your own mind,
you will open your eyes and finally see
the silver gate guarding the entrance to Paradise.
But the land has long since wilted with drought of faith,
and joy has been whipped from the eyes of the children, replaced by
responsibility and the man-made reality of metal and money.
Your strings are out of tune and I have not the ability
to tighten the rancor from your current disposition of
knowledgeable ignorance. You are deaf, and I cannot waste eternity
humbling the greatness of the ages to disgusting movements of the lip.

but what am i, without an instrument

executedweekly

Clarkston, United States

  • Artist
    Notes
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desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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