No Piano With Willful Hands

To stare at the music that once lived inside one's breast in empty silence, brings back the heart and soul of the lost grace, the beauty that is longed for- that flowing song which is wild and free.

 

~ No Piano With Willful Hands ~

 

Music runs through empty chasms,

veins that live in empty silence,

the flood of sweetness I created,

now lives not in the world of silence-

world of gravel, once of sea and grace,

 

there is no place for one so tender,

nor soul to fill my tankard,

no music flutters in this metal coldness,

my heart is pining, thickly frigid,

I could not live among the many,

without hearing those wild songs beat.

 

I long to run in grassy meadows,

those plains where sheeps are hence home-bound,

I want to throw my arms out haply,

no rhyme or reason, to be found.

 

My will's to welcome those birds singing,

I wish to dance where all may bound . . .

 

but in the end I sit here sadly,

for there is no music, no song to crack-

this utter silence,

this breast of willful playing,

that now rests empty, a soul-cracked shell,

no flowers growing in the playground . . .

 

where once . . .

I felt so many people, nature lived, and love swam freely,

no freedom to let myself break free,

in unleashed passion . . .

 

now, they all lay down to graze,

wholly placid,

quiet,

forever silent ~  

Reviews

[Chris]

This one is complete. Touches a nerve well, defines your thoughts and has a voice.

[Sami Khalil]

Wow. This was soooo good and sad. I like the ideas and the sad notions. I have felt the emptiness and hollowness that things bring...Bravo....

[Foxemerald]

Thank you for your kind words, and your perceptions of this piece. I appreciate the time that you took to read, empathize with, and understand it.

[Sami Khalil]

You are welcome...:)....................