(or the illusions of self we each have).
Orchestras synthesize trembling mana,
and honey rises from the nascent hive.
Harmony is the honey of many.
To fuse in unison so as to live—
then to lose oneself—that’s life’s best honey.
Your strings ooze into the communal line
of woven sweet. Then the whole great world hones
its taste on this one music. It’s zany
how the swarm of cells inside a bee’s bones,
and the million details that make a home—
plus all your memories dumped from boxes—
don’t make a mess. A clear lyric has come—
chaos looping and closing in a link,
that fits into a geometric comb
in the sweet, cellular, symphonic womb.
|Wow. Dianne Romaine|
HEY, RHYME FANS:
Check out my experimental rhyme scheme based on "Word Golf."