Pan's flute I play
Pacing the room as I do so.
I watch as the world comes, and goes, and changes
I watch as the flowers bloom and die to bloom again.
And are we not flowers or stand as trees
Majestic and scarred, with feeling to a man
Moving in the azure worlds of Tennyson.
Music glistens above the haze.
A thin, warbly note confused for a bird
Seeking flight again and again in its cage, unable
To drop to the ground in surrender.
Singing the only song I know.
I cling wildly to the slipping away dreaming
That I do not dream, dreaming
That I do not wake.
And the music continues, not needing my breathless air
And the music continues, not needing my ceaseless need.
I play because I know, should I go, I would not be missed.