Beginning a song
To be sung by the mute
The notes on the score
Are too hard to compute
By the ones who are bound
To thinking so rigid
The world freezes over
No progress, too frigid
A Poetic Dive into the Creative Unconscious
Beginning a song
To be sung by the mute
The notes on the score
Are too hard to compute
By the ones who are bound
To thinking so rigid
The world freezes over
No progress, too frigid