Boldly starts the phantoms harp;
Unlyrically imposed.
Beside the chords of ancient lore,
From rhetoric to prose.

Swoon me in your flawless sheen;
Adagio for strings.
Feed the fire that desire
Of your rhythm brings

Now play to me conviction
In tempo soft and ripe,
As I that hearken, fall awake
By phantoms of the night.

Hypertrophy of melody,
With heavenly results.
As I write rhymes of lullabies
To the calming of my pulse.

Now stop, on key, unfortunate,
That I should have to leave…
Until next time, when hope resigns
And leads your voice to me.

Resolved, I wane, in fortune bleak
By laureates replaced.
A winter’s heart and rigid pen
Turns rhythm into waste.

And I must for the fever, lose,
The fire I’ve inside.
Till sense returns my sadness
And vision is revised.

Soft rest, beneath the baritone
And a bounty of respect…
A song left dry, to idly die
By the tainting of neglect.
 
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