God... perhaps

Has God's music, 
entrenched and resolute, 
been quieted?

Perhaps the tune was never sufficient
for every man to hear 
as it was played to the select 
who presumed they were elect

Perhaps the music ere made 
could never reach the world 
It is not reaching us now 
We have seen too much of the soul

We finally note the plight of the meek
We suffer with those who were once impure 
Perhaps turning obliquely from the sound 
removes the fear that prevented our empathy 

Now we begin to play 
Our music, collectively composed, 
is a new and beautiful melody. 
Our tune can weave through culture and time. 

The percussion begins, 
followed precisely by the strings, brass, and woodwinds 
as they enlarge the sound. 

The vibrations reach those 
long hidden from the music 
by literalism and fear and ignorance.

We still love the classic, 
we revere it for its composition, 
it buoyed us before we could play 
we have built on its structure. 

But unless the composer 
can evolve his voice, 
he will continue playing for the select, 
not the elect, while missing the plea from his child. 

Maybe God's music never was 
the delivering hand of the composer, 
but the interdependent relation 
between the players

Perhaps, God's music was ours all along. 
Perhaps through kindness I can play it for you now.

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