So after everything
The trumpet failed to sound.
The sounds that were
Were lost. Soft ground
Gave way. They found
They had no other path to take.
They turned but turning felt
The still point fixed,
And went in spirals down,
And down, until
They shook, and then the fathoms shook,
And light, like revelation, touched
Their failure.
“Sing to me!”
They shouted. Too late.
The orchestra had gone.
Then looking down
They all took note.
<a href="https://www.pexels.com/photo/band-blow-blur-brass-343683/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Source</a>
It was the day their trumpet failed to sound.
The orchestra had gone.
All those sad players with their broken strings!
<a href="https://www.pexels.com/photo/acoustic-art-blur-bowed-instrument-165973/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Source</a>
Who knows how many yearned
And learned too late
To beat a futile rhythm
On that long-closed gate!
<a href="https://www.pexels.com/photo/ancient-arch-architecture-artwork-210441/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Source</a>
And, ah, my lovely son,
Who knows how many years must pass
Before you know how much your father yearned
To love you, how he lost you even in this tongue
And verse you cannot understand,
Or, understanding, understand it muted
By a foreign tongue?
How all the choirs,
How all the brown trees,
Oceans, pivots, poles, and places
Raced to say
My lovely boy, my lovely, lovely, beamish, lovely boy,
How much I love you!
<a href="https://www.pexels.com/photo/gray-dragon-statue-208326/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Source</a>
In the wiffly wood
I cannot find the Jabberwock.
Help me if you can.
(from “The Light Of Day (I)”)