Prolepsis
07/05 2021
On that morning the keys of the piano
Played themselves into an instant memory
The moment danced along my fingers
Which in turn only danced to the tune itself
Quickly I wrote it down and marveled upon completion
My life's work, it is done! Finished before myself
During the day I walked around
The cold distant streets of Edinburgh
And I, with no hope nor health
Awaited my companion, patiently.
She was set to arrive by the evening train,
But oh to my horror as I passed the station:
'Delayed' it said, and by a whole day!
Just like the fifth note of my melody.
So I begin walking home.
While the streets had once been a mystery,
Which in fact had once inspired parts of my melody,
They now only carried the notes of monotony.
There were railroad workers, railroad tycoons,
And of course the bartenders and the bar patrons,
Don't forget the patrons of the street bar too,
But neither of them had anything to say,
Opting to reflecting their own names
Into mirrors, eyes and the bottom of bottles
The ocean is always still that far down.
I linger in my observations, especially how it blends
Harmoniously with the notes of my meticulous melody
Yet I remain restrained, because
What use is it if no one hears it too?
My life's work isn't mine, it is others.