Appassionata In D(ream) Min.

The conductor raises his báton and begins
Symphony #57, Opus 3, and a cello sighs mournfully.

Razor wire encased in ice like diamonds,
Dripping the tears of its hated existence,
Crashing to the ground and enlivening the silent morning.
Crisp and new, wrapped in the blanket scent of smoldering pine
Embers that warm souls, heating a pot
Of English Breakfast, fragrant and touched
With a golden blend of spice,
Golden like the sun that illumines the valley we share.
We are cut by the beauty of a spice sun on
An iced encased morning.
Under the spell of Fyodor Dostoevsky,
In the existential underground of St. Petersburg
Silenced by the ugly, clanging morning,
Less clanging than ugly, and more evening than morn.
When they said, “We will do as we desire.”
Like a blind man saying, “I see.”
They could have been nihilists, although
There is no need to go breaking chairs.[1]
But like exasperated peasants of the
Province of earth, we all know there is more.
We mount horses like a merry-go-round
And wait to break out of the paddock and race
Toward the finish line, although
We know Ddriag Goch[2] will rise again,
Leading the exodus to the silver valley
We have already dreamed,
In liquid dreams, drawn from ancient draughts,
However, we drank until drunk,
Needing to understand our thirst, and watching, as
Die Sonne tönt nach alter Weise/In Brunderspharen Wettgesang…[3]
Even over ice covered razor wire that sings in the wind,
A disparaging song of its existence,
Highlighted by one note
In the key of dreams.


[1] From The Inspector General (1836) by Nikoli Gogol
[2] Gaelic: Red Dragon; The Symbol of the legendary king that would return and lead the Welsh to freedom; Symbol on the Welsh flag and crest
[3] From Prologue in Heaven, Faust by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe; (“The sun resounds as of old/ In rival-singing with his brother spheres…”)