Music of the Night

You will notice the patient's face

That her cheekbones are bowed

by the weight of sadness in her eyes

Her breathing is laboured

Every inhalation heaves her life forward

one more notch

Each exhalation drops the pawl

that will not let it slip back

Each sigh is her last.

She struggles as much with her mind

as a paraplegic with their body

Both entombed by an apparatus

that will not work as it should

Each hand she reaches to for rescue

pushes her back under

Again

and again

and again.

Perhaps she could learn to live with the darkness

but it would be the cold that would kill her

She wishes the ending of it were as simple

as cancelling the subscription on her life

and waiting the final number

But she never finds the courage to try

She doesn't understand herself

No-one else does either

How could they ?

They have only flown over this place,

or just visited and left

She cannot believe there is another country

or that anyone can fly so high.

Her ears are constantly tuned

to those night-time stations

others only flick through

Their music,

(the pith and marrow of her complaint)

as lyrical as a ballad

as flawless as a boy soprano

as fractured as heavy metal

Retreating to her studio

She records the sounds

forges them into words

rivets them into verse

Creating in her art

the form of her life

Is she to be the quintessential poet of melancholy

writing of the river of her tears

As if this were her life's work,

its worth

And when she finds out how to be happy

will she publish the 'How To' to the world

and lose it for herself

As if bottling a butterfly

could preserve its life, its soul

"Self-help books are for those who don't need them"

she scorns

"All I want

is understanding

human warmth,

love

a companion on the lonely way, that's all !

Is it too much to ask ?"

Is life really meant to be this way

sadness upon sadness

Or can it be seen some other way

And if it can

Who will give her new eyes to see it

and new ears to hear its rhapsody ?