The Last Sound

 
~ The Last Sound ~

Life is a composer,

who grates his strings above,

in a harmony of black,

one I cannot discern.

He transposes with enigma,

a pretty sound of escape,

drags me into a wholesome,

lovely world . . .

filled with eternal bliss,

that turns slowly into buzzing.

And then He cries out with despair-

as His strings develop fervent,

passion which builds up to a harsh climax,

carrying me into the plaintive sound-

that has become dead to-

beauty's sweet expanse,

nothing but a freak buzzing,

one long, continuous whine-

which invokes a sheer terror

  . . .

I look down, and finger my box,
of music given to my on-

the last day of my life,

This tiny counterpiece to my heart filled,

with my memories that rest upon,

me singing softly and in my ear . . .

But I cannot hear the music,

it takes me to a place unknown,

a break from life, signal death,

a strong, black sound filled with terror,
and full of mere guise,

then suddenly the game is up-

and this sound is the last one that I hear.