I am only half a word,
We are a song so seldom heard;
Words that long to be redeemed,
Sounds that measure what they mean.
Instruments tuned in separate rooms,
Tend to broadcast different tunes;
Calloused fingers miss the beat,
And strangers stumble when they meet.
We each think along our separate ways,
While a conductor sits and prays;
We each pretend our side is heard,
While we are only half a word.
James Dinsmore