Melody, that tired old woman of music ago,
Wandering aimlessly from here to there,
Looking for an avenue to the music of the now,
With an empty heart but progressive mind,
With an ear to hear the worn out places,
And an eye to see the worn out colors,
And a heart to fill melodic exuberance,
And the senses to fill with luscious harmonies,
Bridging the gap between the old and the new,
Sprouting wings to reach the summit,
An intensive thrill on a lofted ride,
That pumps the heart and reaches the groin
Like a trail blazed by lovers
And nature’s calling of the highest,
A demand from the bowels of creation,
A primal journey to the threshold of bliss,
Wrapping its wings around my body,
A sensation that overpowers every thought,
A losing of the self through rapture,
A gaining of the language of poetic thought,
A swell that bridges the gap
Between the old and the new,
A new music that enhances the bridge,
That colors it with pastels and perfumes,
With passion and a rejuvenated heart,
With a motion that moves like the wind,
A winding that circles around the hills,
An escalation that spirals up to heaven,
And a new spirit that fills my soul with bliss.
As the music swells to a new height,
It takes my all with it as it climbs.

I wrote this after waking up to Stravinsky's "The Firebird."

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