Dreams

The hero that I tried to be
It wasn't the role for me.
Shattered time and time again
Yet I never got off the train;
As it twisted and it turned
My gut dipped and churned,
Losing a piece of my soul,
It just spun out of control.
And now that we barely talk,
I'm sinking like a frozen rock.
Again I live in my dreams
Because in them it seems
I still have my best friend,
And in them I can pretend
That reality doesn't matter.
It keeps swirling far away
Dragging me in its sway.

The Piano II

His fingers moved seamlessly, one with the ivory keys, brushing the black brothers gently. His feet worked the pedals as his heart flowed through his limbs. He loved making music on this beautiful piece of art. The black ebony shone in the thousand dazzling lights of the chandelier, brighter than anything else his eyes could see. The tone of this exquisitely crafted instrument resonated with the sounds of his furiously pumping heart. They were one, the man and the Ebony black grand piano.

And then the sky fell upon them.

They were torn apart, why, no one could really tell. He watched with anguish as the other musician touched her keys and drowned himself in her sensual tone. His heart was heavy, his eyes drier than the Red Sea as they made music together, as the songs he had wanted to compose rose from them instead. He lived and relived the feel of the softness of that beautiful ivory surface, on each key. He decided he would never make music with another piano again; it could never feel so right ever again. He lay down in the niche he had carved out for himself, and holding on to the little tag that had come with Ebony, he closed his eyes that he may live in his dreams...

A tinkling woke him. There stood a Walnut piano, lustrous in the dawn rays. A minute spark of interest flew from his fingers. He reached out and struck a chord. The harmonious notes echoed around the room they were enclosed in. He played another, and another, and another. And then he withdrew his hands, for he could feel his heart writhing inside of him. He stepped back, slowly, tiredly.

The Walnut grand piano stood silently, waiting, longing for her notes to be sounded again, to feel the joy of making music. She watched as the man sauntered over again, hesitantly caressing the inky black keys, his fingers working their way over the ivory planes. She basked in the joy of it, carefully forgetting that he might leave again but hoping he would not. She knew he felt he was playing just some piano, not the piano, knew also that his heart was not in the music he was making with her, but hoping nevertheless that he will make music as he once had, fiery and passionate.

But he did leave, his heart still yearning after the Ebony beauty.

The cold, still strings lay in the dark, dust beginning to settle as the Walnut grand desperately hoped he would come back. She watched and prayed.

When he came back, sweet music filled the air. She rejoiced but a small, nagging doubt crept in for it seemed his fingers struck the keys yet his heart was far away. She strove to give her best, her strings resonating as loudly as she was built for. 

The music stopped abruptly. A soft sigh before he played another song. He shook his head, his heart heavy. He played a chord, tears in his eyes. "This would be a lie," he whispered, as he stood up as an old man would. His steps wobbled, his joints hurt and he was short of breath as he walked away. 

The Walnut grand stood echoing in the silence, worn. She slammed her keys shut, vowing to never let it open until his fidelity has been proven to her. A long, minor note rang out as she wailed into the darkness. 

The Ember

The void of oxygen hurt,
It clenched its throat;
Strangling the air out,
The last wisps it'd held to.
It shivered and withered
As the icy remnants of it
Fought to stay alive.
Shrivelling as slugs in salt,
It heaved laboriously
And took that one final breath. 

The Skeletons of Paranoia

That familiar mist slinks around.
Heart pounding. Thoughts burning.
Thud, thud, is all I can hear now.

The second hand drags on by;
Strung up, like a marionette doll
I jerk, this way and that, I cry.

Fingers tremble with each word,
As the cold sliver of steel feasts,
Screeching, my soul it clawed.

I know it's there, yet you insist
Smoothly wooing my beliefs
Towards, "It does not exist."


The voices fade away to deathly silence.

Jesień

It fluttered down slowly,
Palming the currents,
All colour leeched
By the harsh cold winds
Of the settling winter.

It rested on the ground,
Soon to be dissolved
Into bleak nothings;
To be trod upon
By the quick soles.

Many a moon phase
Steadily crept on by,
The stark barrenness
Rising into the dark,
Watching, waiting.

Storm

The dark grey clouds, she saw
Creeping in, ever thickening.
She slowly closed her eyes,
Exhaling her frustration
And willing the grey away.
She opened her eyes calmly,

The skies were an ominous black;
The colour of ravens.
The bearers of omens.

Embracing herself, she blinked
Rapidly; her head twitched
slowly, then vigorously.
An escaped loon, some might think
She cared not. She must rid herself;
These vapours she would cast away.

Else her soul would be consumed;
Such as maggots on dead flesh.
Such as rats amidst a midden.

Fists clenched, she whimpered
For she felt the drops on her skin,
Nor could her ears be plugged.
She cried out, feeling the sting
As acid rain, those drops fell;
Blistering the pockmarked skin.

In despair, Heavenward she looked
And there beheld a Brilliance
So pure and white.

She could see the other side. 

Sweet Peace

That gentle swish,
An unseen shackle
Melting softly out.
Sweet, sweet peace
Seeping inside;
That freedom,
So desperate
Was I then,
Now my own.

Sweet, sweet peace:
Unfathomable.
Beautiful.
Transcendent.

Divine.