Fresh air creeps into the room “Voices”.
It’s the dawn of a new day the “Old Man” arises.
Quiet, wrecked, wounded, one may think of him.
His shadow the only peace that really lies within.

One may think he lost it,
His smile wouldn’t show you the pain of that.
That which cause the “Old Man” to flip,
Not the “Voices” though it helps him not to trip.

The tone of each “Key” speaks to his soul
Sooths his horrors that he’s never told.
The man portrays integrity, but he shows neglect.
Have you ever seen an old man that forgets yet?

He’s never forgotten his past though,
Just the present that goes by extremely slow.
To the world he may be perfect,
But to  them he doesn’t show.

The white keys his melody,
The black he strikes for harmony.
To hear the voices that hears his cry,
To those voices he never lies.

He release the pain when the “Voices” speak
To them he retreats,
Mentally, physically, emotionally,
The old man is weak.

His communication distorted by the name he gave himself.
“The Black and White Keys” he uses to cry out for help.
People seem to listen, but them he confuses,
Because the help he abuses.

People don’t seem to please the “Old Man”
Not even a helping hand.
The only thing he turns to at the end of the day,
Are those Black and white Keys  “Voices”.

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