Beethoven’s Seventh has left me pensive,
content to be brooding and lost in thought.
What a piece of work, so apprehensive
yet stoic amid life’s constant onslaught!
Like a spirit moving over the Earth,
aloof, but longing to reconnect,
able to see all for what it is worth,
emotion drained and numbed by intellect,
it lacks the physical motivation
to change the slightest bit what is observed,
grateful for even the desolation,
wide-eyed to tragedy, yet not unnerved.
But sad isolation’s not its full scope –
through dismal miasma, there shines bright hope.