Music Hath No Mercy

From behind white clouds
And radiant light,
She peeks and smiles,
Extends her fingertip,
And touches foreheads,
Hearts and souls,
Awakens inner visions,
Demons, aspirations,
Holding out the hope:
Love, glory, service.

Some she chooses, uses,
Fills their lives
(And ours) with
Bursting song as
Clear and strong as
Light itself,
Golden sonic beams,
Like swords or
Lovers' smiles,
Awake, alive —
Magical delight.

Some she teases,
Ruthless temptress,
Stirring love,
Desire, devotion,
Blessing only
With the rain.

To the many
She bestows
The dream
But not the means,
For music hath no mercy.
To the few
She grants the healing song,
Undeniable, irresistible,
And we, like children,
Bow before guitars afire
And celestial choirs,
Her willing slaves,
Aspiring angels,
Servants blind and drunk,
Sometimes awakened,
Ecstatic to the grave,
Even as we laugh
And reel and weep
And stumble into darkness.

Merciless in her beauty,
Music, sweet music,
Provocative, enchanting,
Alluring, unforgiving,
Seduces all who hear,
Demanding we obey
Beyond our strength,
Even as grey November's
Howling weight
Drowns in tears and
Breaks with wind and age
Our final whispered words:

   Music, O beauteous music,

"How I loved thee

With all my heart and soul,

With all my life and being.