Listening to Leopold’s symphony
for two minutes,
I was bored.
My mind wondered.
I recalled the dramatic first chords
of Wolfgang’s symphony 41
how it awakened me
how I was hooked by his energy and zest.

Even though Leopold taught his son,
the fame of the impulsive and creative Amadeus spread
as he wrote and played
and captured the attention of the world.

I wonder what poor Leopold thought of his own work
in contrast to his prolific son
a son who seemingly created great music
from nothing
who freed himself from tired conventions.

A creator makes something from nothing
and I wonder if being lost in nothingness
as we poets sometimes are,
if letting go of the familiar
makes it easier to create.

Hopeful of life's graces
at the same time withered
and stuck at bay.
So I danced with the shadows;
played with cold snow.
Reached for the heavens
to rain patience into this tired heart.
For one sparkle, one smile or maybe one purpose;
but for now I go the mile.
Going on thinking
that maybe now isn't just the right time.
Though time was nothing but spiteful
always landing to something that isn't right.
out of desperation
of maybe's and might's
still hopeless and still lost
In the coldness of night.