In comes lure like a meteor entering private space
Clothed in a halo fluttering like a dove of innocence
Ministering deadly cadences that seduce senses and massage sinews
The musical notes transport to a realm of relaxing views
And amiable alien voices preach complete surrender to the rhythm

Mustered and dominated the object professes no identity
Moves and performs like a marionette on stage
Is spoken for dumb moved lame and willed
Possessed by the rhythm bound in a maze-enslaved

Vacated, Crickets’ voice ceases to be audible
The petrified breast feels too subjugated to do battle
Rendering the figure to limply stand exposed to the elements
A distant Voice cuts through, “Do you want to be one with the rhythm?”

If heeded or nursed well He may abide pierce and wrestle
Liberate the penitent unchain the determined reclaim
The steward who should never have pined after any other
Ushering in a dispensation free of the rhythm