Composed

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

We memorize the moment that we first

Took in that music is of bits of sounds

Each felt apart, but, all to make the burst

Of beauty breaking through their separate sounds

To greatness, not just harmony but more

Than that, the gravest unity.  Surprised,

We realize that music is the score

Of everything.  This shock, when once surmised,

Leads on to the epiphany that we

Were waiting for it all along.  This sting

Explains the rhythmed, toned epiphany

That pricks the nightingale’s desire to sing.

  A trembling in the cosmos shows this goal

    Since music hymns of apogee, the whole.

© Phillip Whidden