The end of March means spring is inevitable. Randy is dead of ruined kidney, then rotten lung, then thirty-five years friendship gone, three months silent. No rites of spring sing in mud season, fitting mud damping sounds, muting music of spring melt.
He lived for music, the medium of energy, essence of emotion, yet love is silence, silence of men quiet with corpses, still brothers and soil and love means silence and fathers gone and music and mud.
Emotion guided his finger tip touch with the Opus 109 or 110 or 111. He caressed with keys, with Steinway and Schubert. Never with words. At his brother's bier both were silent in the humid darkness that is men speechless with the weight of dank death.
Rain is predicted.
He lived for music, the medium of energy, essence of emotion, yet love is silence, silence of men quiet with corpses, still brothers and soil and love means silence and fathers gone and music and mud.
Emotion guided his finger tip touch with the Opus 109 or 110 or 111. He caressed with keys, with Steinway and Schubert. Never with words. At his brother's bier both were silent in the humid darkness that is men speechless with the weight of dank death.
Rain is predicted.
2 Comments:
And now the rain is falling. This is a beautiful tribute. Friends are never forgotten--especially those that we carry around in our hearts.
I have to catch my breath.
POWERFUL.
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