Home » Poetry » Chopin


Chopin I
The terror of the minute when the light impales the cloud
The drama of the threads that break when something tears the shroud
The fire in the breakers as they turn against the land
The heartbreak of the moment when it all slips through my hand
The feathers on the floorboards that still tingle in the air
The whispers of the flirting breeze I hardly knew was there
The backwardness of how the people walk on things that fly
The knowledge of the irony that if I breathe I’ll die
How many times will I permit these phantoms to drift in?
How many times will they refuse to trickle through my pen?
How many times can I prepare to lose my mind in rage?
And crack the quill that forms the latch while ink bleeds through the page?
An echo from across the night beyond the realms of time
And voices from above the stars that imitate the chime
They warn me that another wraith of perfect light is here
And if I cannot catch it, it will never reappear
The torment of my fainting soul when feathers float away
The hunger for the vision lost and fading of the ray
The bleakness of the morning that awakes me from the dream
The still despairing silence falls from lack of breath to scream
There is no place to turn away and cower from these things
The raindrops falling play the song on horizontal strings
The air still moves to mock my mind and follow me to death
And if I cannot capture it, I’ll die—
It is my breath

Chopin II
I found a carcass in the rocks
A driftwood bird
Stray from its flocks
Its final music lost, unheard

A silence ate me from inside
And who could judge me?
I was there when Chopin died

So little left when life lies still
The fire cold
A loss of will
With art and passion still untold

And what remains but hair and bone
And rain and mud
And seven stone
Of pallid flesh and stagnant blood

The feathers thin and bleached with rain
And red with rust
And dry from pain
And all that’s left is ash and dust

Chopin III
I awoke to music from the sky
Silver glassy singing
Through the shimmering abyss
Strings of Lyra ringing
I had heard before–but this!
What aroused from heaven such a cosmic waking sigh?

I awoke with Vega in my eye
Ever so much nearer
Than in nights and mornings past
Loud and still and clearer
And within my reach at last
What awaits a poet when their breaths and heartbeats die?

I awoke with stardust in my wings
Falling Lyrids play the song on horizontal strings