March 21

World Poetry Day

 

The Music of the Spheres

(a villanelle for the apocalypse)

 

The promised gift is less than it appears.

As heavens spin above me in the night,

I do not hear the music of the spheres.

 

Even children know to hold back tears,

hide disappointment under feigned delight,

when the promised gift is less than it appears.

 

If fact and fancy ever could cohere,

a poet’s sense would strain beyond his sight.

Yet I do not hear the music of the spheres.

 

So many times in unenlightened years,

I dreamt the sky was scored with notes of white.

But the promised gift is less than it appears.

 

The ancients speak of magic for the ears,

but stars are nothing more than points of light.

I do not hear the music of the spheres.

 

Mythic heavens can’t dispel our fears.

Don’t be fooled by foil, however bright:

The promised gift is less than it appears.

You will not hear the music of the spheres.