ARE WE ANY GOOD?
(ARE WE THAT GOOD?)
I'll grant you pin-point, laser precision
on surgical procedures, perhaps, and
charting distances to what we say are
stars, but - past that - I don't know.
I have my doubts, as we undermine our
spaciousness by counting spites and hatreds.
-
No? My hands hold this guitar and my arms
hug this grand tuba. That's one thing of itself,
but - lest you hear the music that comes forth -
there must needs first be training and practice
and rote. All those miserable scales and chords.
-
I'd wish instead for a more natural talent, one
that sweetly oozes as I breath; that brings forth
Summer's meadow sounds and the babblings of
running brooks. Those are truly the talented
things. For us, instead, who call ourselves the
living, is merely given the attempt to understand,
the value of the balance, the tipping of the stand.
Looking at the Heavens' light, in much the same
way, we can read but we cannot write.
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