In Antiphon

When hearts break hard in antiphon,
their thoughtless chatter echoing
like cave bats fiercely chattering,
or Pegasus tamed by the hero Bellerephon.

Stooped in sullen corners like minor chords
suffering Grecian chants in western halls,
some days we huddle restlessly like thralls,
as hurricane winds howl, we hide under boards.

We recognize the torches and pitchforks,
under dark skies, with heavy clouds suppressing,
starkly realize our own deficiencies, undressing,
while striking our uvulas like tuning forks.

There a kiss goes to die,
and lost loves are demonstrated,
to have been a partial lie,
no matter how we remonstrated.