Infernal Instrument

This body is an instrument
Rusty, broken, snapped
An out of tune guitar
Or a tuba without brass
These souls' strings are sound'n silently
Whisper'd breathy nodes
The music is inside me
But somewhere between these toes

Rotted base
And Lead loom'd frets
Wretched riddled rent
Through much use and pressure
Yet, oh, so little breath
Chaotic crashing dissonance
Produce not thy weary tones. 


Forget it all.
Free to crack and bend and break
Breathe on through thine brazen bones
Through thine curdled nose
And through this ache

Let it slide
And let it shake
Sounds, not to be restrained

Let it rumble
Let it rasp
Let it sound 
Be it good or sad. 

Sing on through streams of salty seas
Beat on through broken breasts and obscured memories
Have faith in this, 
thine instrument.
Infernal, not to thy firmament
Only to thee thorn'd eyes
Sound again 
 Mine weary instrument 
Rise up and sing again. 

Published by Silent Singer

The Silent Singer

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