Euphony of the Heart

[Muffit]

Music is the art of fashioning air; the elusive handwriting of the heart. When I reach for something, my movements create song without and within. Joy and pain dance in melody and rhythm beats applause. Harmony melds my hopes and fears, and bar lines mark my passage through time.



Artists that have come and gone, are with me still; chords struck in me like instruments in my blood, coursing sweet and bitter streams, artesian founts of mood and timbre.



And when they move me, I always wonder, why do we cry? What purpose do those transient drops of sorrow’s drizzle serve in us in truth? They neither nourish nor deplete, and dry as though, like desert rain, they had never been. They do not soothe or temper pain, and leave us empty still. And why of all our myriad parts is it our eyes from which they spring? Perhaps because, like childhood noses on window panes, we watch them trickle down transfixed, and hope for sun again.



I hope so dearly to see the things I’ve lost in verse, and leave this refrain of emptiness that loops for months and years, and find a coda there. A simple hour or two of BSG as it plays within my heart, would leave my minor fourths behind for major sevenths’ aire. The song I ache to hear again is concord of the then and now, consonance of yesterday with the memories of today. Euphony of the heart without the rain that keeps my soul inside.



Affectionately,

Muffit

[amberstar]

You have a way with words Muffit! Beautifull as always!

[Muffit]

((((((amberstar)))))))))

[jewels]

That was beautiful.

[Muffit]

(((((((((((Jewels)))))))))))