The music of the radio
         Is everywhere I go—


Singers sing unendingly
While instruments blend
Into one gigantic field of sound.

Nothing is unsung, no feeling
     That has ever been
Finds itself without a home
     Somewhere on the air.

When every lyric has been written,
We will truly be superfluous.


All it takes to break this spell
     Is a well-developed will
To set aside some time each day
     When nothing artificial
     Is allowed to intervene.

All it takes is understanding
We cannot be an audience
Every moment of our lives.

©2016 Michael Fraley

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