If I left the world alone, and sat among the stars,

Would patience be a virtue? Or would anger be my scar?

In a world without a muse

The stars will spark the light.

As music fills the air,

The cold will leave the night.

Dissonance is the base,

Of a world in constant anguish.

Dissonance is the chaos,

For Harmony to extinguish.

If music is the fix,

For a world in permanent turmoil,

How am I supposed to create,

Without leaving this dying world?

So once again I ponder, 

And think with pure intent:

If I left the world alone, and sat among the stars,

Would patience be a virtue? Or would anger be my scar?