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Personal Note:

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Poem


A tall, chain wire fence
surrounds the perimeter 
of the power station, casting
its evening shadow over a wide
bank of grass leading down
to the river. Sometimes I sit there
just to listen to the sound 
of the wind make music through
the wires. 

It is a soft, melancholy music
that carries a certain sorrow.
Uncoupled from a name,
it seems a composite 
of the sadness accrued 
in the wordless wells of the soul
that finds voice here.
It has a strange attraction,
an addictive beauty

which keeps me coming back
though each note strums
a nerve giving a little hurt.
At times I can almost hear
human voices weaved
into the music, a tone 
echoing out of places 
made restless with longing.

It is the music that lovers make
and gently plays at the center
of all good art, sad prisoners 
of time, composed by the heart 
to mourn when what is loved 
and what is beautiful in this life
passes from us, 
and let go.

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