Musical

I forget my name to become ancient For my callsign like my lifetime is a story And as of late I've started To pretend myself being some archaic people For a second now would be a second then Reason being taken in the same place It is quite easy to think only on self But to play devil's advocate Is it not my current state of comfort That affords me to forget my face? Consequently unambivalence is ever fake Much like true altruism a would-like-to-think And along with all the other isms out there One would nod the head because it is forced As the only alternative to pure defeat Man walks down a road he can never repeat Although his delivery is rotten He may still be noble in his cause To cultivate things such as class Taste and as much dignity as he can muster For this job falls well in synch With the rest of nature as she plays Her song through all of her instruments Of which I am surely as well one Voice in the grand human quire Set right in place never stepping out For trying to do so would be pure insolence As human music plays just the way it would By means of violence, love and elegance In chaos building order by whatever means Set in rows to pay great heed to our director The sun by day and the moon by night Paying attention and caring curiously Fits right in with the rest of the play Though I always loved placing things in reverse And so by coming back to where we began I like to let go of what makes me so that I may see The orchestra's performance as it follows the lead Of the sun and moon in their ever revolving cycles For the fun of it is by supposing one may assume To be truly as old as the age of man Compassion rises within the heart of the speaker And although he may be deterred and become a seeker Once again at the end of any needy turn It is great fun finding a place of comfort A warm spot at the end of the day to go crawl in For this way or that man must make his stand Within the eroding winds of grim evolving space For in the same way one does not question music When it is played on the right queue and time Life is simply the chiming of grandeur's pipes Where quiet defines the imprint of the contours

CuldeSac

What are words without understanding and what is understanding without sense?

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