I Never Promised You Khachaturian  
     
  poetry is a closeted art
the poet echoes visions of his times
 
  when the pianist plays a Chopin etude
the scientist seeks madly for evidence
 
  the poet warns his lonely brother
that Elvish is a melodic language
it moves in an orchestrated direction
 
  Quenya is highly inflected with color  
  if Sindarin prose thinks discursively
then non-discursive logic sculptures melody
 
  those who deny that music has meaning
in the way that writing has meaning
have not been graced with a gift to read rainbows
 
  science counts and keeps scores
but prophets are bursting inversely with light
 
  the prophet echoes the visions of his day  
  prophecy is a closeted art  
  and although we have said that before
we do not temper the fires of life
 
  nor judge the anvils that hammered
the twenty-first line of a Bach invention
 
     
  Copyright © 2005 by Robert E. Romanelli PhD