Past the Pane
Past the pane, the newly-risen sun
Embodies hopes to rise, to peak, to wane,
And here within, the music has begun:
Fearful, aggressive songs of despair and pain.
And on my mind's horizon swarm
The strange possessors of my form,
A-bustle to the rhythm of the sounds that sting my soul--
And, as I gaze into the blue beyond,
The universal of my heart's pursuit,
I call to God and pray my echoing voice.
But ah! my voice is mute.
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