The Golden-Mantled Sa

Time was, fragments
Felt more profound
Than any whole,
Their missing limbs,

Their paint-stripped eyes
Staring blankly,
Scrubbed of context.
Nowadays, songs

Are the new pure,
Preferred bereft
Of instruments
They were sung for,

Barren vocals
Backed by silence,
Drums, guitars gone,
Half voice, half ghost.