(play in background while reading:)
When and if my shadow passes
out of this sunlit domain
it will barely be the extinction
of a whisper
in the babble of humanity.
Indeed, every single day features
a chorus of the passing,
the extinction of breaths,
and with them voices
speaking the stories
of their lives.
The daily music of loss
is subtle indeed,
but it has its gradations --
it ranking soloists, its greater and lesser
choristers.
(I will be
the least
of the chorus, the
anonymous
.)
The soloists pronounce
an aria across
the universe of sound --
an extinctive summation
of their life,
We sometimes think it is a tragedy
if one soloist outshines the other;
both are good, oh very good --
but in the end
it's all after all
in the end
it's all a small
matter of statistics --
whatever gets the most hits stays
in business.
Wouldn't you say?
So it's the boldest who rules the day --
but never the boldest
whose brand of bold
went too far into harm's way.
The Chorus of the Passing
resounds everyday; someday
you will sing too, your story --
your aria --
a summation
of your life.
What will it say?
Prokofiev - Houstonpressblog



