Broken Song Sings

Summary

The poem "Broken Song Sings" reflects on the struggle of self-expression through the metaphor of a damaged musical instrument, ultimately suggesting a transformative potential in human connection.

Abstract

"Broken Song Sings" is a poignant free verse poem that delves into the pain and beauty of expression. The author personifies their vocal cords as "savaged chords," which, despite being "torn by forced speech," carry a complex array of emotions, from "wry humor" to "plaintive sobs." The poem conveys a sense of inevitable decay, likening the deterioration of the voice to the broader theme of entropy. Yet, it also hints at the possibility of transcendent harmony through intimate human interaction, where touch and connection can evoke a symphony of shared existence. The poem closes with a reflection on the fluid boundaries between individuals, reminiscent of the impermanence of clouds, and the bittersweet acceptance of life's transient nature.

Opinions

The author views their voice as a battleground, scarred by the demands of communication and thought.
There is a sense of resignation to the voice's limitations and the broader inevitability of decline.
The poem suggests that true expression, akin to a theremin's ethereal sound, can be achieved through deep, empathetic connection with another person.
The author seems to find beauty in the imperfections of their voice, comparing it to the rich textures of life, such as a "dog-eared book."
The poem expresses a duality of existence: the simultaneous experience of the profound intermingling of lives and the recognition of each individual's ultimate solitude in the face of decay.

free verse

image by author

I only sing inside my savaged chords torn by forced speech subject to my grinding output battered by a hailstorm of thought they didn’t choose their song conscripted to carry a wry humor a pithy bark and hoarse observations scratchy as an old summer day abused as a dog-eared book.

Poor innocent reeds brutally harnessed to convey checkered cynicism inside jokes and plaintive sobs.

My cracked voice is a consequence of inescapable entropy a sequence of decline that began at birth a lovely nihilism that ends in a concert of divine disintegration.

But if you touched me inside massaged my organs just so I’d sing like a theremin pluck my ribs play my beating flute harmonize my orgasmic melodies…

And remember our permeable skin how we moved back and forth amid and between each other as clouds dissipate naïvely merging in submission to irreversible decay.