A hollow pipe
Sounds along its length.
A tone struck,
Echoes clarity.
Standing waves
In tubular space
Sustain.
Music
Born of confinement
Escapes it,
Runs across air’s
Vast distance,
Free at last
To die away.
© BH 2012
I started to write about freedom and remembered a fragment from an earlier poem: 'the spiral bell of freedom'. For whatever reason those few words sparked this, something at the same time literal and metaphysical. That's my excuse, at least. Otherwise words fail me.
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