Ode to Maladies
Invade the body of the host,
A plight of various ailments ensue, prompting
Overdoses and poison of the remedies. Putative – false.
My fingers brush the brow of another. Wipe the sweat, the pained gasps for
Respire! Hear the triumph of war – the ominous silence within, the sound of silence.
The orchestra still breathes, but the timpanis have stopped, disabled. Cut off – finé.
The concertmaster plays his solo, anxious, panicked, hurried. And then,
The inevitable fumble of the fingers as the bow slips and falls with a clatter
To the stage, and the conductor casts away his baton. The
Audience draws its collective final breath and the exhalation is slow
As the ensemble drifts into its