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07/30/09 - (1)
Today and Today and Today
Some nights when he goes to bed, He has no expectations about ever waking again. Indeed, leaving his known world would be welcome — A benediction, a deliverance, a salvation of sorts — Since he believes there's no reason for him to listen for dawn,
No reason he's been able to articulate, lately, anyway, Lest it be that a select cluster of people Yet rely on him, intimately (or so they say), To illuminate their lives, with his kind eyes And wisdom gathered from his sixty-eight-year-wide wilderness,
Which he distills into rhythmically lineated, lyrical passages Of exquisite melodic beauty — Glissandi, mellifluous riffs, descants, graceful arpeggios — He plays on their heartstrings, with his mind's fingertips, Whenever his imagination takes their stage...
No reason for ushering in tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, Other than to remind himself that loneliness And failure to reach wider audiences, with his music, Are not sufficient nemeses to let death's crescendoing Defeat his daily need to create, from silence, symphonies.
07/30/09 - (1)
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