Bless You, Wolfy

Funny that a
somewhat creepy
fat little Austrian,
218 years dead,
remains the only voice
in the world
that can always
restore my spirit
when the joy
has seeped out
of my life.

Somehow, he caught
the sounds
of God laughing
and weeping,
and transcribed them
into human music
that I might obtain
the vibrations
of divinity,
the melodies
of holiness,
the intensity
of nexus
centuries later,
even in this silent
Tennessee cabin
on a dismal
gray morning.

The women
who said no,
the debts,
disappointments
and dashed dreams
mean nothing now.

Your suffering
transcended it all.

One clear stream
of universal beauty
flowing down the years,
allaying doubt,
renewing hope,
caressing mortal ears.
- mce