[ while contemplating the futility of life on the edge of a whet blade ]

while contemplating the futility of life on the edge of a whet blade
i found myself wanting very much to lose faith in all existence
i wanted to cry
to crawl into a hole
and become like one who was a genius
but tortured
and alone
i felt as one with he
my ears failing me
my soul dying slowly within me
my silence the only expression of the wellspring of music i held inside
arias and concertos that could tear your heart to pieces
symphonies that changed the world
melodies torn from a mind that could not comprehend
the cacophony
of the notes
because the hearing had long since gone

a series of chords and my heart breaks
it was there for you too
you felt the struggle of human existence
you were the one that could have been gone
you and i are one, you see
by all accounts we should be dead
we live as though we were
you in your silent, severe brooding
me in my awkward, observational cloister
never again will those hands raise against me
because you became a genius the world never fully appreciated
and if they cannot come to terms with me
then they haven't learned in all these years