The Goddess of Song

Song was what they called it.

The ones before us could hear it they say.

I wonder sometimes,

How must it feel to hear.

To reach in and,

Entwine my soul with another creation of god.

The ancestors tell tales I don't understand.

Tales of songs,

Songs of the waters of the rivers,

And the branches of the trees.

Songs of beings with no face nor limb.

I wonder,

What is the colour of their souls,

The rivers, rocks and the earth.

What do they sing about?

What was nature's great symphony.

But alas, we are now cursed men.

Robbed of the charm of song.

"Do not lose hope little one." they say.

Hope to maybe rekindle this forbidden art? but I,

I don't know to hope like they do.

We spend our days in regret,

Of the sins of our forefathers who've left us cursed,

Plunging our arms into the earth,

Trying to reach out for something long forgotten.

Tremors and vibrations are all that's left,

Like a ruinous monument of the past.

A dying goddess, and her last breaths,

echoing into our sinful world.

Curse whichever god you praise or,

Seek forgiveness of the devil you curse.

There is no one to hear your songs of sorrow.

For even the devil has abandoned this world.

But when the day comes, And it will,

Even the vibrations will have stopped,

Our drums will have died a silent death,

And so will have the lilt of our hearts,

Alas, when the goddess of song breathes her last,

So will we all.

Cover Art Credit - Masashi Ozawa

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