On Having to Give Up Music

[Wilyem Clark]

In this crowded cosmos there is only me;
One by one I must let go of things I've always cherished:
Former lovers, timesharing friends, old buddies,
Games, glad gambols, and genial gangs.
Worst of all: losing music that springs from my mind.
I hear it still, but it soft-shoes by—unscored, unvoiced,
Whole cycles of songs untranscribed.
There is no market for ephemeral sweetmeats,
Anthems exchanged over tea and cookies,
Serenades and lullabies on sultry nights,
Embers and cozy companions, and yes,
The stars that speckle the heavens—all gone.

I've been an irregular peg since birth
And never expected an easy passage,
Though maybe I wagered my quirksome soul
Might guide me through difficult needle-threadings.
But squelching my music's like downing cathartics
To purge a system of winsome delights—
A sledgehammer breaking up Tiffany glass,
Barefooted peasants farandoling on scree,
Honeymooners who quarrel their way into schism;
The crass, ugly triumph of petty concerns.
The wind and the weather raise tumults, spawn thunder!
Why can't my own urges be equal and free?