As we aim to silence the pain
which we are fairly allotted
by birth-right
a deafening calm consumes us
while focused on the pleasures
overdue to us
in the treble.
Signals cease to lift
the alarm lever,
if we don't
move
our lips
to speak
to the self
in the language of the body.
Before translation
the strangeness deters our curiosity
about how one thing may become another
and make melodies
by note, by color, by shade, by immersion,
there is understanding
needs to be met
and lyrics to listen to
while we move
this way and that
away from where it hurts most
toward what we know
says nothing
about us.
Painting by Wilhelm Carl August Zimmer (1853-1937) / Public domain.
