Playing to the End

The cacophony never lasted long,
we always found new variations,
to the same ancient music.

If at times a sobering truth
impelled us to acknowledge,
that the opus of our works
was merely a divertimenti,
played by a band of blind mice,
we still believed,
in that grand symphonic final.

It is reassuring to know,
we can still whistle a broken melody,
as a concert hall empties out
into that long, voiceless night.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2024

Poem

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