Unfinished Symphony
by Jon Sesrie-Goff

Hypnotic tunes,
Making melancholic groves,
As unfinished symphonies play over in minds like a morbid overture
And repressed thoughts
Come flying out through enraged fist on flesh covered
drums.
This is my song.

Choirs can’t do this ballad justice,
Sequenced wearing, gold mic holding, holier than thou,
holy ghost filled singing women
Wouldn’t be able to shout out my story,
“How I Got Over”, still don’t know
But I realized when I was climbing that 
Jacobs’ ladder was missing a rung or two –
            He slipped and hit the ground hard            And paralyzed half his body.

Rappers are unable to comprehend
My complex decade and a half story,
“I excel they all fail”.
Distorted images from cracked-rearview mirrors
Can’t be transformed in to words,
Some new slang couldn’t encompass my truth,
Meaningless metaphors are unable to compare my life to
a material thing,
Repetitive verses with flying obscenities
Lacks the density of my experience.

Jazz musicians can’t vamp my years
On their instruments,
Their trombones couldn’t cry out my deepest memories,
My regrets couldn’t be released like a collected mass
of saliva
From a trumpet’s “spit chute”,
Their singers’ scats couldn’t compare to the
confabulations 
Created by my mind,
“Well it don’t mean a thing if you ain’t got that doo wa doo wa doo wa doo wa doo wa do …”
And don’t nobody got it like me.
This is my song.

Can’t nobody shout it or sing it,
Rap it or swing it.
This is my song.
The notes are my thoughts,
Every bar is a month,
Each page is a year,
All the rests are my tears,
There are no repeat signs
‘Cause I’ve only got one chance,
The sharps are when I was up,
The flats are for when I was down,
And my song is played in mezzo forte –
Loud enough for you to notice and smooth enough to
enjoy it.
Those blank 30 pages of my masterpiece
Equate to the time I have left from now
‘Til that double bar line.

This is my song and I’m gonna 
“Rock, rock on”.