He could see the notes.

The colors they leave behind,
The presence of their warmth.

They danced before his eyes,
Whispering their sweet melodies.

Laughter underneath his fingers,
Coaxing them out from their hiding place.

Music was his muse
In the ungodly hours of the night.

She danced with him under the moonlight.

Her voice a soothing lullaby
Quieted the demons in his mind.

And yet

the voices were
too loud.

Fear took hold of
his gut.

Guilt tripped him in
his feet.

He begged Darkness

"Leave me alone."

Shadows wrapped around
his wrists.

Music grew quiet.

Silence reigned
like fermata
on an
indefinite rest.

He closed his eyes.
He covered his ears.
He shut the lid.

The music stopped.

"How can you make this world a better place?"

They ask.

She smiles sweetly and says,

"A world without me in it."

I despise myself for not being someone you could love.

The truth about poets
Is
They’re not all alike
Some are derelicts
Scalawags
Lovers
Sisters
Some say they’re writers
Instead of Poet
For they know what that puts
Into the minds of others
Romantic
Lethargic
Gypsy
Some will never write novels
Poems are their Ulysses
Their ‘Love in the Time Of Cholera
Some are sad
Withdrawn
Choose to live there
While some poets
Use their words
To claw their way out
Some have fallen out of love
&
Want someone
ANYONE
to listen
While some have fallen in
the deepest ocean
&
Want to tell the world
What this man
This woman
Means to them

Most write their verses
Alone
Some at midnight
Some at sunrise
Some with coffee
Most with bottles

Most will never see the reaction
Of many
Will never hear
‘I like that...’

And most don’t want to be famous
Or sometimes heard
We
Just want to be
Ourselves

Up and down, play keys in forte,
Faster and faster, only by ear heard.
Cantabile, fortissimo, piano, fine,
A variety of gloom and love in tone.

Echoes all over the wall you feel,
Majestic and grand tells a tale of old.
Vibrato, detache, pizzicato, trill,
Its heartbreaking voice pouring out its soul.

Quiet and smooth, the wind blows through,
Glints of silver, brass, and gold.
Repeat the variation and the solo too,
Then continue at coda big and bold.

Beethoven, Mozart, Handel, Bach,
Music speaks what these quadrants lack.