Dies Irae

At the agonizing hour of his ailing, flailing health, Amadeus Mozart composed Requiem.  Mozart wrote to his beloved, "I feel as though I am writing for my own funeral," ailing, he felt his . . . impending death.  I listened to Dies Irae (track 3 of Requiem on CD) several times before writing the poem inspired by his music.    

Cyclone


Requiem - Dies Irae

Lachrymose!  Lachrymose!

Lacerate — Gash, Gnash, Gush!

Swish—storm of fury—down to the moors,

Blustering lash down below—ice, floe,

Heavens howl biring wind, yowl hazy gusts,

Bawl ice-cold, yowl knurly wind dusts,

Heaps of snow, heaps, carries in hearse,

Cyclones of floe; rampageous gusts,

You bury me below in the moors,

You bury me deep under the gulfs,

You bury me in the earth’s benthos,

Lachrymose!  Lachrymose!

Why must you pile heaps of slosh,

Heedlessly down, heedlessly crush,

More piles over, on, on, slush—

Wash over, onto, above the gulch,

Wash over, onto like slops, dross,

Lacerate — Gash, Gnash, Gush!

Deluged in icy cold frosted floe,

Avalanche of cumbersome chorus,

Wipe over, out with the drone—

My last breath—Borus, Caurus,

Lachrymose!  Lachrymose!

Blustering  lash down below—ice, floe,

Wipe in white-out, color of flesh,

One, heavens cries howl, gush,

Two, heavens cries bawl with ice, floe,

Three, heavens cries yowl in sirocco,

Day my beloved deserts, deity by Shamash.