Sound

As Mozart is the sound of the mind,
Cash is essential to the soul.
But either fit with the loneliest
Profiles among the commoners.

Never used to be,
When the men ran wild
And chased animals through
Trees.

Days where the sun bites last
Light of work weary old.
Hair lain forcefully on grains
Of yesterdays.
Miles and miles of new spaces
Filled with the eyes’ glorious
Color.

Music played on before
The composer lifted ink.

As I’m thankfully over the worst,
I’ll allow this illusion to serenade me daily.
And it’s just that easy, to the
Next best thing.