Tuesday, April 28, 2015


"When the stars threw down their spears 
And water'd heaven with their tears: 
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?"
- The Tyger, William Blake

Few could know then
Among convent tapestries
and fruited grounds
That the unassuming reticent
Had within him
A lion's roar
A fearful symmetry
in sound
Notes decorating pages like
Tiger stripes
Presence massive yet mysterious
On stage like tiger making
silent impressions in
jungle underbrush
The sound a siren
Drawing by the heart
We know not
What comet he rode
to this sphere only
thankful that he
bravely chose
To give voice
To the music that
Only he
Could hear

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