(no subject)

[readingredhead]

We are the music makers, the ones
who take the silence and bend our ways
around it so that somehow (we still don't know how) we produce
a song, a shout, a cry into the night.
But whatever it is, it's worth it.
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
picking up driftwood aimlessly -- maybe
to construct a house in the sand,
furnished with sea-glass windows that filter the light in
green and brown and blue.
And sitting by desolate streams; places quiet
like that are in short supply
now. "Alone" is not a bad word.
World-losers and world-forsakers --
after all, it's just a world, a mere phsycial
reality, and physicality's not always
something to be craved --
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world forever, it seems. Because who else
cares to move the world, nowadays? You'd be hard-pressed
to come up with a good answer to
that question. So it's up to us. It's up
to us.

*************************************************

Words in italics comprise the first stanza of Arthur O'Shaughnessy's poem "Ode." Anything not in italics is mine.

I really wish someone would take "Ode" and set it to music so that I could sing it out loud in joy.