The Failing Song

Photo by Fanny Renaud on Unsplash

A song whose notes I wrote,

Falls deeply into the shadows

And admits the faults are my own,

Confused and powerless,

It anxiously plays in the wrong tone,

The harmonies in battle portray the unknown,

While the rythym strikes fiercely before dawn.

The tired signature of love prevails,

Wanting more than the power of words,

The music behaves still and quiet,

Playing on broken strings,

Engaging my heart

With the finality of everything.

Who am I to question the sound of beauty?

The vague calamity of unrequited love,

I am a voyager who dreams of peace,

A place where unresolved ballads,

Come to rest from delusive symphonies.