Two strings vibrating
In deliberate harmony;
A conspiracy of sounds
Bringing audible
Togetherness
To the ears and lives
Of listeners.
Praise the Lord
For a sweet sounding
Chord.
Two people bringing out
Something other than the best
In each other;
The unsculpted noise
Of human disharmony.
Apart and pushing
Ever more distant,
The one from the other.
Like an uneven slice
Of flesh or bread
From a dull sword,
The rancid rancor
And festering wounds
Of discord.
There are limits
To the discord
Humankind
Can afford.
Even a poorly crafted
Chord
Is something most
Can afford
That could spare us
The sharpened spike
Of anguish
On which we might find
Our beings gored.
To hatred
We mustn’t allow our lives
To become moored.