The Nexus

The Nexus
Christopher Bogart

At the nexus of syllable and sound,
Where music meets language,
Words soar,
Spiral,
Twist,
Topple,
Roar.

Clear their rare air
To hear their joy,
Their pain,
Their mental rain
Again,
And again.

They scream,
They plead.
Their anguish strokes the strings
Of violins.
Tremolos reverberate across bows
Of blood red cellos,
Or stabbed with fingers, calloused,
On the tin runes of mandolins,
Guitars.

Sweet sound strains far
Along the sharpened curves
Of the scimitar
So very far away,
So very near
To ears,
To minds,
To souls,
Until, at last,
We fear,
We dare to hear,
To loose
Control.