PAGANINI

 

 

The music spilled, not knowing its restrictions,

From joyous lights to wicked, dark convictions,

It sawed my soul out of the body’s frame.

 

As though a felony, your melodies will riot,

And hellish moans and groans will not go quiet,

As they give birth to the unruly flame.

 

In nature, you have grasped its transformation,

Plunged into doubt, seeking confirmation:

Are you a genius of darkness or of light?

 

For all of this, your soul was surely punished

You were deformed, forlorn, and even banished,

For your horrific gift, you paid your life.