Renaissance Music

 Sometimes the music of Past seems to play loudest as we peer toward Future

‘Perhaps’ we say; skies clap with Dawn

Time's Maestro primed with wait-and-see

Moves a chimerical baton

As future turns to history

Don’t try to grip the haste of it

But savor each note as it spills

And stuns us with the taste of it

That runs us through with thrills and ills

…to waken, break in, heal the heart

And make us reel beneath the thrall

Of common-colored works of art

Making muse-icians of us all

We house in cages clothed in skin

The music-sheets of season-death

While ballads from veiled violins

Turn our heads and steal our breath

...where we are torn twixt sit or climb

Borne on a thousand melodies

That course with the sheer force of Time

Casting eighth-notes to memories 

© Janet Martin

Below is the original version of the above poem;
funny how changing one word or line can birth a complete over-haul:)

‘Perhaps’ we say; time claps its hands

Perhaps and someday’s wait-and-see

Unravels future’s foreign lands

To have and hold, then history

Don’t try to grip the haste of it

Savor the bit-by-bit that spills

And stuns us with the taste of it

That runs us through with thrills and ills

…to break and heal the human heart

And make us reel beneath a thrall

Where tug-of-war-like works of art

Makes mem’ry misers of us all

We house in cages clothed in skin

The diaries of seasons spent

And hardly know where to begin

Always caught between came and went

Where we are discontent to sit

Too long with nothing much to do

Yet drawn by the sheer force of it

To linger and drink in the view

© Janet Martin