What Decides

It is the strings.
The wood and imagination.
The discipline beneath the skin,
the constant tuning,
twisting of screws and keys,
the hidden work that decides
whether you hear music
or cacophony.

About this poem

Sanity takes work. Our best selves takes work. And at times it is hard. Having just come through a period where it was hard, and the work was invisible, and yet it kept the music playing – that hidden discipline, and my admiration for all who work it, are inestimable.

Slow dancing,

Tom