Music

There is no music today,
the ball that bounces
from word to word
is on vacation.

Without the bobbing white dot
I cannot follow the leader.
I am like a closed book today.
The scratchings of the pen
are entombed between closed covers.

I am entombed within myself -
silent, unmoving, perhaps
decaying.

There is no growth in a closed book.
No growth without the bouncing ball.

With no music, there is no life.