In nineteen hundred, Mahler said
to Sibelius that
a symphony must     be        like
the world, it must contain everything.

The world inside,
for him, for Alma, for the house,
became haunted           by the silence of
a daughter gone,      cursed.

That world is feared by all parents,
and known too well
to those who go to a dark land, to an oubliette,
to nowhere, to
an oubliette,
to nowhere, to an


If the world is made of songs
of the deaths of our children,
is it the world
we hope for?

* * *

This is another in my poem of the day series that I share on Facebook. You can backtrack through the posts or use the tag “Poem of the Day” to read previous entries.



  1. Every parent’s nightmare is being realized by the man who calls himself our president – will they ever find their children? I pray for each and every one, the kids and the parents, that they will be reunited soon


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