Unfinished Symphonies
All lives are incomplete, not just the life
Of Keats—or Emily in Amherst locked
In circumstance. Chance wields the palette knife
And even genius finds its choices balked
By limitations of the oil paints
That fate provides. The colors on the brush
Are pre-controlled by destiny or feints
And thrusts of luck. Consumption puts a hush
On fevered lungs or strict virginity
Is levied for the sake of art. The hymn
Rhyme schemes she found in her vicinity
She had to make sublime instead of prim.
..They both achieved immensity but still
….The gags that lack and death imposed were shrill.