Organ Failure

Whale-weight of Pendle presses down on me

As I set out my cold steel implements,

Like a pathologist must. Rain, wind sent,

Beats a steady rhythm, and gloom seems to be

All pervasive even with the lights on.

I am charged with dismantling the music,

Ruinating racks of keys with which quick

Fingers unlocked this vault of notes.  All gone

Now, timed out into silence. It’s just old,

Not antique, not collectable, too big

To be carried out in one piece, the rig

Must be broken down, dumped, sight unsold.

Pendle plunges through a sea of mist as the spray

Of rain washes cold, cold ashes further away.

Dave Alton