We are alive our very breath singing.
We live beyond certainty, constantly stretching.
We are the lucky who live beyond,
in a swirl of questioning,
broadening. Reach...
We stretch in our borderless
matrix of gestures,
our instruments urge us,
our melodies carry us...
towards where you sit,
in that daring front row.
You await our flowering intonations,
the hint of the glorious flourishing new.
Paintbrush, melodies, give us their clues,
In hours of practise, its you were befriending.
Authentic, blended and lifted, we woo
the small beauty of a perfect ending.
With golden fingers our harmonies fuse,
the secrets of the gardens weve tended
the streggle for the pure, authentic,
were dancing on strings,
towards a God amused,
a cosmos applauding.
What we've tried to accomplish,
at such great odds,
is beauty, melding audience with artist.
Humanity flourishing true.
We are the workers who bring you the true
and the new and the old again, remade for you,
we are alive, our breath has a view,
Weve striven and surfaced, and now were all new.
~ Judith Pordon ~
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Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
~ William Butler Yeats ~