Pure

Pure drama at the microphone,
Intelligence set against the masses.
A youth released freehold dreams.
Conditions are never quite what they seem.

Within an order balanced within the state,
A youth laboured at the structure of the fugue.
The world of sound thread across a wound,
Animated most soothing, seamless, healing parts.

Chanted over a rhythmic, ancient instrument,
Language that shaped a vivid dream.
A youth tuned it so to conquer time,
Ushered in the blossoming of belief.

Back, back to the original fire on an arid plain,
Gaze into the heart of a fleeting, flickering, life-giving flame.

This is a capsule history of the creative spirit. The perspective pulls back further and further into the past. The first stanza is a portrait of Jim Morrison, the second J.S. Bach, and the third is a take on Homer. It finishes with a glimpse of the world of pre-history.