for Claudia Chopek
There is an end to everything we do,
Which means that how we leave is who we are.
We can resent it, or complain and stew,
Or go out blazing, like a shooting star—
Or play the close so well that blind men see
It’s not about attainment, but the growing,
And that success is more than victory
Or bows that the violist gets for bowing.
And when the time comes for the final note
To sound, let it be like an opening—
Not sad or grieving, but their antidote.
Let music in us find new ways to sing
And stretch the wings we’ve earned until they flyAnd, like a comet, scrape stars from the sky.
Copyright 2017 Matthew J Wells