One brief moment caught in the balance,
lies the wind chime above the door,
harbinger of passage,
cacophony of inharmonic chords
that lie harmonic within us;
In the balance,
lies the pendulum,
its deafening gong resounds,
to and fro heartbeat soothes;
In the balance,
lies the oscilloscope - it plods;
measuring a life caught within the balance,
between now and the final harbinger,
final heartbeat;
Above the door, someone comes,
the wind chime falls, caught within the balance;
That moment,
a second split into eons where time stops,
wind chime falls, pendulum slows,
oscilloscope quiets,
her chest rises, imperceptibly;
The doors of perception open,
before the wind chime crashes,
a shattering scuttled across the floor,
a final crash, the pendulum gong resounds,
you catch your breath, she breathes her last.
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Comments: 52
"cacophony of inharmonic chords that lie harmonic within us"
What are our lives but inharmonic chords that we try our best to make harmonic? What peace we find when we realize it can never be.
Very creative. Well done.
good writing. I like having to do a second reading sometimes:)
As you can see the philosophic questions behind your subject, stopping to focus on one particular point of "balance," and attempting to communicate the occurrences and their outcomes through different objects is right up my alley. Therefore, I can truly appreciate what you have posted here.
You've starred 10 times!
harbinger, cacophony, inharmonic, pendulum, oscilloscope, imperceptibly,
lovely vocabulary and I saw this in several ways, first as death - the doors opening then as possibly rebirth within oneself as in revelation, also as two lovers in tune as chimes . . . the picture is a beautiful addition to your words.
As a matter of fact, the origin of this was a Christmas ornament I wanted to buy, but the stock was shipped back before I bought this one. I had been thinking of how lovely the glass chime would have looked on the tree, and I began thinking. The other parallels just came to me as I was driving, yesterday.
Thank you again.
Wonderfully sad poem....Darcey.
Ed, a year on Gather can really mature one's self and sense of style....