Somehow this one didn’t get posted here

Hole

All of his songs are air – not even dust.
Gone where no echo ever brings sound back
into forgetfulness. And so we pack
worship into that emptiness. We trust

his name alone, without his words or songs.
First was the best, we say, and hope we lie
but fear it true. Poets, musicians die
with envy in their hearts. To him belongs

all praise. In the beginning was the word?
No, music first? For him no such debate,
the will to know truth, knowing to create,
and sing as pure and simple as a bird.

And all is lost. It’s that wound drives us on-
with poem or song to remake what is gone.

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About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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3 Responses to Somehow this one didn’t get posted here

  1. Anonymous says:

    another stunning piece of art. i reckon i could re read this until the cows came home.

  2. crowleycrow says:

    Beuatiful — just enough chewy word pairings to keep it from being too smooth. This is genuinely touching — which is no small thing to make a poem about a mythical being do.

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