Triumphant Trance Music

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Batons of beauty and its undertow

Bring up the signature of melodies

And harmonies that fugal Bach would grow

If he were not entombed and he could seize

Them once again.  At times we want a blond

Fugue woven up from careful curls so long

That they fall vertically from maestro’s wand.

The gold coiffure is like a hanging song

Of songs.  Prince Absalom was only black

Of twister hair, tornadoes trailing down

Along his neck to chest, a serious lack

Contrasted with Bach’s beauty (more a frown).

  Each moment of the piece, a monument

     To God’s eternity, is what He meant.