Mozart K. 515

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem 

It is as if he died before he wrote

His string quintets.  What evil killed his heart

We cannot know that they all bloat

With not just life but also death, each part

Of them so utterly replete that no

Compelling explanation helps us hear

Their truths except they have a holy glow

That cannot come from only life’s light sphere.

They might be played at weddings or at graves.

The movements shimmer as if ghosts or love —

Or both — are set in harmony for naves

To echo with.  They come from realms above.

  It is as though he posed the notes to be

    A warning.  Know your death and life.  Swell free.

~ Phillip Whidden