Grave Of a Musician

Tomorrow,
It’s gonna be a busy day
It always is;
Monday, it is.

There are photographs to take
To document the work I make
And the daily struggles
I have to suffer
Suffering not from pain
Or the experience I gain
Maybe the bruises I receive
Or in breaks I believe;

There are real struggles
Down there in the newspaper
Written in black on white
Nothing needs to get illustrated
But they’re doing it anyway:
My mind can imagine
Without much delay.

Still the struggles are there
Because of pens and paper
And the usual mare
Of things being there
Available to buy
For an ordinary guy
Whose life only makes sense
When he’s got a lot of pens;
It’s a lifetime rainbow
For I always find the bridge to enter.

Monday is a circus
With the weekend in mind
Somehow trying to be kind
And caring.

Monday is a circuit
With everyone on the edge
Starting the week with too much energy
Naturally.

At the end of that working day
Without having to pay
From all those promises
I made to myself
But finally put on the shelf
I somehow remember Sunday.

When there was other work to do
A translated opera:
Der Freischütz
By Carl Maria von Weber:
Beautifully dark
Thus it left its mark
Pinned on my mind.

There was something left to do
When I walked outside
And turned the keys.

I took my bicycle
To leave for the cemetery.

On that Monday evening
After a long day’s work
I paid a visit
To Carl Maria von Weber.

Down from the rainbow
Soft and slow
The overture from the Freischütz
Whispered along his stone
Cold and alone
No more with me standing there
Wondering:

Wasn’t it for the work on Monday
Would I’ve been here someday
Anyway?

Wasn’t it for the work on Sunday
Would I ever care or dare
For the mare?

One simple headstone
For the great musician
At the far end of the cemetery
But not ordinary
Just letters engraved
Valleys in white
For my delight.

At the end of the day
Not far away
From Carl the Great
I’m sleeping peacefully
In my estate.

        © Séamus Kennan / 2017

Carl Maria von Weber_grave

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