As a Requiem Unbound Would Be

I pray in a crescendo, a wound unwound, softly moving ‘round in the sound found vibrating inside of me; a variation, a fusion, a euphony to black adversity as a requiem unbound would be – the stress of chains, cacophonous then melodious, black to black then onto a deceptive cadence with an end-note tremulous, a nocturne played under stars with a tempo easily bent toward the present perfect tense in a chord seared by sweet lament –