Perhaps it's in the echo of each note,
Or the ring of each resonant chord,
Or the pulse of the soul of a song,
That which draws me in,
Captures all my mind,
Leaves me with no choice but to,
Reach out and let my hands,
Add their tune,
To the song in my head.

Sometimes all the right keys are played,
But I stop anyway,
As the right way clashes with,
The melody in my head,
Which is wrong,
Yet overrules the right.

And in my mind I hear,
The potential of symphonic,
Decoration on the framework,
Of a black and white,
Photograph of my emotion,
Which could be so much more,
Radiant with bursts and fades,
Of harmonic colours.

Music haunts me as,
Both a guardian and,
A curse.