My fingers traipse across the black, white keys.
The golden sounds are dreams that I can hear.
I long for quiet moments such as these
when sweet melodies melt into my ear.
The chime of bells are gliding through the air
and symphonies are seeping through my veins.
They sway and twirl and whisper like a prayer.
I take a breath and play through what remains.
But then the music thunders loud and shrill.
The sharps are choppy like the restless waves
of storm gray waters drowning out the still.
The notes then rise and fall back to their graves.
The music stutters and stops short the song.
I pick a new tune that moves right along.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 5:57 PM UTC
My fingers traipse across the black, white keys.
The golden sounds are dreams that I can hear.
I long for quiet moments such as these
when sweet melodies melt into my ear.
The chime of bells are gliding through the air
and symphonies are seeping through my veins.
They sway and twirl and whisper like a prayer.
I take a breath and play through what remains.
But then the music thunders loud and shrill.
The sharps are choppy like the restless waves
of storm gray waters drowning out the still.
The notes then rise and fall back to their graves.
The music stutters and stops short the song.
I pick a new tune that moves right along.
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