One Note at a Time

Strung out in a desert
where decaying melody
echoes across the infinite void
of time’s slow collapse,
the lonely weaver of words
plucks ripe sounds
from out thin air,
breathing The Word
back into creation.

Each strum upon the instrument
he keeps strapped around his shoulder
brings the fruition of high vibration
into harmony with the once parched landscape.

Where once there was drought,
now the chalice is full.

Where once there was chaos,
now the music beats in tune.

Where once there was sorrow,
now feet dance in ecstatic joy.

Where once there was silence,
now laughter and song fill the air.

Where once there was only mirage,
now the muse has been resurrected.