I pray in a crescendo, a wound unwound,
softly moving ‘round in the sound
found vibrating inside of me;
a variation, a fusion,
a euphony to black
adversity as a requiem
unbound would be –
the stress of chains,
cacophonous then melodious,
black to black then onto a deceptive
cadence with an end-note tremulous,
a nocturne played under stars
with a tempo easily bent
toward the present perfect tense
in a chord seared by sweet lament –
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