Mozart

He lied awake.
It was 2:00 in the morning.
He was very tired.
It was very boring.

He wrote his music,
Day and night.
He sometimes waited,
Shivering with fright.

He did not know,
When he would come.
He did not know,
Where he was from.

He became insane,
And out of control.
He left his body,
Along with his soul.

He could not live,
He was too afraid.
Fore it had killed him,
What he had made.


By Corey Harrell