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| Creative Dissection by � vatooz She went into the mountains and bathed In the icy waters every day She searched her soul and she fasted Until her song at last it came her way She went back to the big house Where the fires returned the feelings to her hands And she sang her song to her ancestors In a tongue that you can not understand. But in the morning paper they said the accompaniment was weak And if your singing for the public choose a language we all speak And perhaps some strings or a flute would break up that boring sound And it was suggested that a carpet be put over that hard black ground She was totally exhausted both outside and within She had finished with Bolero and she took them Where it was she'd been Across the burning dessert with a traders caravan You could see the camels pushing Through the bright white sand She conducted every note to be a sound track to your dreams She produced an ocean by combining all your streams. But in the morning paper they said the oboe missed a note And the cymbals were off a measure and this is not how it was wrote They said someone somewhere did it in a better way And the gown that she was wearing Was loud and had already seen its day. She awoke amid the silence of the thickly falling snow And she went to the window And wondered where the moon beams go After they are finished Lighting what she sees Like the dark mysterious shadows There amongst the trees She woke up like this quite often And wrote down what she felt She did not try to change it She just played what she was dealt She did not pick the words they did that on their own Describing the stardust patterns where the evening winds had blown. But in the morning paper they said this poems been done before The words were repetitious and not in style any more They threw her on the table and put the scalpel to her heart And instead of simply enjoying it they dissected every part. |
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