the last 1812 Overture

the first pull of bow across string
leaves me breathless here upon my deathbed
you weep and ask, again, "can i get you
anything?"

"no..."

the steam from the tea twists a couple of feet
through the chilled dry air of my darkened room
like memories after fireworks
I lift my right hand and point,
"you see,

that is why i wanted this song."
but you only cry harder, perhaps thinking
I am already gone.

which each crescendo my heart remembers
love and the beat of another against my skin
the hope of eternal glory
and the taste of oatmeal.

I close my eyes
I close my eyes and see a cold lake
in spring time far away with a blazing inferno in the stove
and wet brown leaves blanketting the ground.

I open my eyes
and there is only you
my love since the day I first knew such things were real.

"I love you," I say
then my song ends