"Driven"

I miss my piano....wahhhh!! (insert crying)..

            I'm aware of these small hands,
             fingers skimming lightly,
             across a dusty universe,
             where crowded angels pray.
            Scarring those sacred lands,
             demons howling nightly,
             some say blessing, some say curse,
             I say, "Let them play".
               

            Temporary secondaries;
              heard inside the door,
              can't provide the aviary
              hunger I live for.
            I cannot; vibration still,
             while I'm not consumed.
             I know not my fortune's will,
             unless my soul's exhumed.


             And as the lily's gilded;
              her loveliness is stained,
              her creamy petals wilted,
              'til kissed by flesh again.      
             This heat be not carried;
              along a fashion sense,
              but deep within is buried,
              an earthy, subtle fragrance.
          
                 
              
              Sweet interpretation;
              though ink can fill a need,
             * in ivory depletion,
              hands can never bleed.


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       *(yah, I miss my piano)....masqued

Author's Note

Do what you need to...

Reviews

[K.C. Zbryk]

the flow on this is serene gently pulling the reader into the poem with your words, and i love the line about 'ink can fill a need in ivory depletion'. Beautifully crafted and i hope that you find a replacement soon.