he was the Musician
his life summed in Song
the Rhythm always came
with the Notes right along

the sweet perfume of Adagio
his chorus Heaven’s cry
his life as ordered as his work
not a Pitch awry

like the Minor Scale
he always worked as hard
the Notes forever perfect
but the happiness was charred

there was a midnight burning
and he became the slave
the Flats started to end
as the Sharps began to wave

the Semitone was perfect
the Ledger Lines were high
the Grand Staff starts
as the Triad replies

tick, tick, tick*
the Metronome counts his Time
the Phrase pauses
as he hits the Climb

the Crescendo cracks
the Melody dies
the Treble shivers
then the Notes lie

the crashing Climax
that broken Cord
the harmony lost
to a distant Lord

there is no Maestoso
he succumbs to the Blues
to do it again
he would never refuse

the Beauty, the Brutality
the irony of it all
as the Scale climbs
but the Interval falls

then the Relative Key rests
there’s a stop from the Beat
the Key Signature changes
as the Lord takes his seat-

And yet, the Music is never complete.