"Forsaken Circumstance"

To wake in madness
ears too deaf to hear
a beat within a brain,

his head banging on the floor
to write a score hidden in his mind,
the pen pressed deep to blotch the page.

Torn in frustration now
a life dying away at fifty six,
thirty thousand fans at the funeral.

Beethoven his music in my mind…

Van Gogh his eyes so blue
a canvas of colored hues
confused within his mind,

no paintings can be sold.
His soul dying in madness
slicing off his ear, hearing

Beethoven playing
heavenly music.
There on canvas,

Jesus and his disciples
holding hands together
in loving arms, where is Judas?

Why have you forsaken me
peeping from the corner
the painting by da Vinci,

a precious gift to me
to praise his soul.
Your fate, a painted devil.

Where to now in history,
and blame
forsaken circumstance?

Robert and Clara Schumann
composers of music,
virtuosos playing pianio.

Clara baring her seven children,
Robert in the river Rhine
standing frozen, drowning slowly.

The fishermen saving him
lying in the asylum,
there to die in the year 1856.

What say thee now?
O cursed circumstance,
forsaking him to die alone.