Instrument of life

How fickle the mind
That the heart may play its tune
That the melody of sadness
Could bring the harmonic flow of tears


That death could be the clavinet of the soul
Which makes one’s heart to compose?
In a rhythmic array of misery
For if it is the instrument

That determines your being
It is the notes you play
That steers you towards your destiny
For to play as a racket or noise

Or to become a soluble tongue
Is to waist your beats on the pendulum
For I would know...
What it means when birds sing with no voice
And no soothing sound
Could calm the fiercest of beasts

Where every noise becomes screech
When listening becomes a tragedy
And your soul
In an orchestra of pain

With every beat of your hearts drum
As you wait for an encore from the clavinet
Now it seems like the sneers of time have snapped
So to render the song motionless

As it tears your mind into oblivion
To think you reached a musical epiphany
Where every high note was a new low
And all you've had
Was a song
That will never be sung