The Path IX

Artwork by Gail Bradshaw

Echoing through the damp stone corridors, the giant virginaal throbs,
Its strange powerful waves scattering the ancient fearful residents.
Why must it take such vibrations for us to see the world as it is?
To hear nights falling and falling and falling?
Only Peter, in his tower of ice could explain, 
But the music has melted his tongue and he cannot speak.
On and on the virginaal strums and thrums and the walls collapse.
Even a rat would know it is time to run, but we merely wander over to the window and watch.
Oh, who is that? Looks like Tom. Or is it Bill?
I don't know. Saint Vinnie?
Thwack, whump, thick chords thump under the keening melody.
Even a god would know it is time to pray.
Rumble and mumble, that's the way.
Wheels squeek. 
Keys crack. 
Strings break. 
Angels listen.
Hold on to your mind, here comes the virginaal from heck.