Fallen Notes

There is hardly any sounds anymore

That aren't mingled with shouts and cries.

All the notes have fallen from the pages

Where the music dies.

There is hardly any harmonies,

What's the point without the rare species

Of pianos, violins and guitars?

The notes have fallen and the music dies.

How can a single sharp note compare

To the loud ringing in the ear

From the aftershock of far too many battles.

The notes have fallen and the music dies.

But here's a chance, a quick moment,

To perhaps form a line or two.

To pluck up the fallen notes

From the earth and return home.

Reclaim them and the music revives.