by Pamela Lé Sant

Gone is the music which drove me
The tune, lost on the wind's breath
Misused, mislaid, misplaced
Flown are the notes that conducted the rhythms
The song danced so easily with different beats
Marches of the long dull days
Jazz rips during wanton nights
The soothing sonnets and sleepy lullabies of brandies and breakfasts
A strayed strain of abandoned love
Left is only emptiness
No ruined harmonies or unfinished opuses
But motifs, no longer heard, only remembered
In a prison of silence

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Poem Copyright © 2007 by Pamela Lé Sant


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