For home is where the hearth is;
Going is entering the cold.
Growing from hearthless to heartless,
Abjuring harmony's protection, discharging tonality,
Alighting on a discordant score,
Before the accruing dissonance.
Fleeing home I travel the staff,
Garnering the sounds of the world;
Gleaning my bespoke harvest of tones
Away from the home note of my anthem,
Appealing to the dark backbeat brewing--
B-to-F, one fourth at a time.
Feeling for strains that are beautiful,
Grasping refrains harmonic,
Gauging the ones that are terrifying,
Augmented tritones that vie for my song;
Against the strains I wage my fugue
But abandon all melodic sense.
F-from-B, the devil himself ,
Glaring discordantly along my measures;
Getting farther away from home,
Abroad the melody rots, my song spoilt;
Again I return to seek home's note,
Beside locked doors I reach for the key.
Finding myself at the hearth again,
Glowing with embers that play on for me,
Granting forgiveness for the shrill cacophony,
Around a song plucked with slings and arrows.
Anticipated again, my percussing hammer uncocks,
Bathing me in respite, resolving all worldly tensions:
The home note.