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Saturday, June 2, 2007

Infectum Opus

A poem started,
rhythm considered,
rhyme pondered,
stanzas metered.

The play's first scene blocked out,
understudies rehearsed,
actors performed.

The novel's plot outlined,
the epilogue signed,
first chapter written.

A symphony's opening movement composed,
cymbals clashed,
trumpets shouted,
cellos moaned.

Then the poet rubs out the verse,
the playwright crumples the page,
the author puts down his pen,
the composer hears a different note,
leaves the work,
and starts over again.

2 comments:

Leigh Steele said...

So poignant. This is healing time, time to honor. You do your journey so much justice with words.
XOXO

Doulala said...

You are amazing. I love you.