in the free world

Everywhere, signs
Everywhere, sadness rippling,
funereal blues,
ever slower, ebbing
connection, ebbing time.
.
Everywhere, shrinking, dying.
Everywhere deplete, engulfed
by agony, bleeding out.
.
Can you, will you, sing into
endless night a story
of survival
of happy children in concert
with verdant Earth?
.
.
In the free world
.
.
I don’t listen to the color of the bluesman’s skin.
I infuse the power of music.
I am, my world is, music, not just while it’s playing.
Ordered vibrations cosset me, hold like a
heart-bound twin.
Names, sad biographies, personalities
grand or subdued, but delusions.
Substitute equivalent qualities, commands that
define identity.  Told how to hear
or say in the way ideations,
profound or silly, are spread; day by
dreaded day. 
Sound waves from will, music imbues momentum,
interweaves with
who we become
and overcome.
.

.

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