Mahler

We
thought
Mahler's
symphonies
small r romantic.
The capital R came later
bleeding in pain with bitter discords – writing it large.
Grieving oboe sighs spell out our fate.
Fearful those trumpets;
prophetic
heralds
of
death.

Three
beats
brutal
our ending:
Not chorister joy.
Not ascent to Rococo clouds.
Not violin melodies soaring in sweet farewells.
We want to end on a drumroll
but joy is deeper
beyond grief.
Listen:
our
song.