standing on doorsteps mindlessly knocking

lurking behind peepholes simply watching

creatures in public constantly talking

servants in private dutifully sauntering

impassioned pursuits are fruitful endings

elastic minds watch the grim relics

remaining freed subjects balance the bells

giving shape to the haunting sound

drawn high and centered necessarily

rests the composer and his wrist alive

the audience held captive to the performance unyielding

nothing much more than an experience unmeaning

ceaseless white snowfall blankets the land

vacuous holes hurriedly quilt the abyss

the battleground is alive and many holes become shallow

their fading a true measure of which keep enduring