Waiting for Beauty

The perfect song is an untold secret.

Floating on creamy puffs of clouds
or bubbling in the aftermath
of a randy mountain brook's orgasm,
A dream always stays untouched
Unseen and unheard.

In the solitude of crowded streets
or the chaos of absolute loneliness
Lies a single strange chord
of undefinable purity.

There shall be days
of glorious refrains
and heart-wrenching notes
When the drop of a tear
or the click of a happy tongue
shall make music
more beautiful than any deliberate attempt.

But the perfect song
shall always remain unsung.