Unfinished Symph

Music makes the world go round;
Oh, that much is true.
Cajoling my own eardrums
With rhythm, pace and blues.

It strikes a chord, at least in me
And I mean that metaphorically.
It's heart and soul:
Plays the sole role in giving me my need.

But I didn't know I needed it,
Can a need be not known?
If only I could write it down
I'd have a song to show.

Showing what it means to be;
To have to hold to know,
I cannot muster any word
That equates to brass and bow.

Or timpani, indeed, we see
An orchestra's peaceful symphony
Has not the flaws and faults that be in human-like audacity.

Music makes the world go round,
My religion is sound.
Out of pitiless hopelessness
And into a cloud of hope,
It goes ...