Ars Brevis

In the
cold and colder winter nights I spent in
solitude,

Out of
my tired mind there came a vision of
life wasted.

It was
mine, I know, though never saw a face to
remember.

I'd searched
so long for songs to make it worth my while
to exist;

The songs
never came; they only left me waiting
in the dark.

Far too
late, I understood that they would never
come to me;

I had
to go to them since i was the lesser
one, not they.

But then
I tried to write and found I could! and they
stood and stared.

I crowed.
I had defeated the music and now
I was King.

Still I
see the wasted life as mine; I'd loved the
the music so.

But I
killed them with over-ambition, I tell
you, I did.

Perhaps,
If I had simply waited like others
do, I might

have the
music with me now on these cold winter
nights alone.

My friend
i killed, to feel the thrill of being the King
for a day.

I can
no longer sing; my voice refuses to
leave my

throat, even
my voice is terrified; this world I made
is no place

for the
frail. There is no music here, mon ami.
Please go away,

lest you
should be a victim of the lust to be
the King too.