Yellow rose on weathered piano keys

Image by Martyn Cook

To Sing a New Song


Throughout the day a small snippet of a song kept flashing through my mind: "loud clashing cymbals." On the way home traffic was terrible, and it took longer than normal. The snippet came stronger and louder throughout the commute. By the time I got off the bus, "loud clashing cymbals" was driving me crazy.

What song was it from? How did the rest of it go?

For the life of me, I didn't know. Finally, after a bit of Googling, I figured it out: Earth and All Stars.

As I read through the lyrics, hearing the song in my head, a part of me recoiled. After an annoying afternoon at work (life of a programmer) and a longer than usual commute home, I didn't want to sing a new song. Out of these feelings and thoughts came a poem.

To Sing a New Song

Loud clashing cymbals
sing whom a new song.
To whom do I sing a new song?
For what do I sing a new song?

Forget loud clashing cymbals.
Forget the new songs.
I don't want to sing a new song.
I have nothing for which to sing a new song.

Earth and all stars,
let loud rushing planets take away...
Take away all the sorrow and pain
of a new song unwanted.

Loud blowing snowstorm...
the whiteness engulfs...
the singing of an empty new song...
carried wayward away to the night.

Steel and beams crash
loud pounding workers
singing a new song unheard
into limestone of nothing.

Let science explain
to classrooms and labs
how loud boiling test tubes
melt away the new song.

Loud sounding wisdom
for not a new song
to sing... to sing...
to sing for no one.

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