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~ By Courtesy of Others ~

 

The Harp

 

You are fiola player
drawing our history over gut
strings with Bragi's
bow of words.
vibrating lines in 3/4 time float from your island mind
pander melodies to quake
this rokk of reality
from our tectonic
music sheets
while rhythm rains aska
echoes in our ears
pound the pitch-erupt
and break the jr
that held the aphrodisiac
of your orphic past
the silence between breath represents the stress
mime the chorus
too sharp to sound-aloud
to adorne yourself in song
and turn hearts to molten hraun
the sublime
is a note that you can reach.

Dar Einarfjrison

 

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