My child, the song that you play on your lute
runs through this night like footsteps.
Your soul has all but lost its way
in that song and its shadowy depths.
Why do you lure it into such a place
where it languishes and pines?
Your soul is strong, but your song is yet stronger –
of steely bars and vines.
Grant it silence and your soul may return
to the home in which it breathed,
where it filled up all its innermost spaces
before that home was thieved.
It already beats its wings more faintly –
you see how you waste its flight.
They no longer carry you over these walls
unto my deep delight.
You see, my child, you’ve imprisoned your soul
in your ever restless clang.
Hang up your lute on the walls of desire.
Hang it up and ease that pang.
[Previous: Stepping Out]
[Next: Lullaby (for Stella)]