The rough hand is all I see,
with my hard heart too heavy.
Encaged in sad dreams,
I can’t understand what this means.
I don’t know what’s real,
I’m unsure how to feel.
moving across this whitewashed land.
Lullabies it filled my head with,
tortured as hands moved to sad fifth.
Sweet melodies entangled
pure insanities all mangled.
Black flats move along the line
the leaping strands so very fine.
The menacing finger,
on one mad note it lingers.
Dark undertones in the sweet drifting notes
like hazy smoke under blue sky’s hope.
He plunges into a world of unknowing families,
where evil equals death with no tranquility.
As the music flows miserably,
they scream out in agony.
The high pitched voices of many touch my skin.
Deep and divine like a devious sin,
Their touch like fire,
their need is so dire.
A crowd gathers around
to hear his melancholy sound.
I watch his fingers go here and there,
he watches me with great despair.
A glint in his eyes grows as big as the skies.
And all the while, I search for a demise.
He’s reaching the climax and the keys ring loud
his face turns proud as a crowd gathers ‘round.
His fingers pound as the survivors are found
and shot to the ground.
The sound of their bodies falling
is all too appalling.
Abruptly he stops and sets his finger down on a sharp
now playing it like a fragile harp.
The crashes and clashes die away
the reconciliation is not far today.
Springs are sounding as the creator plays,
sprawling the angels around the sun’s rays.
His new gentle melody
causes fear in me.
His major chords
are not anymore bored.
The light is coming,
but the music is not dying.
It is only changing
and all notes are mingling.
He strokes keys swiftly
and not one is lonely.
The tone no longer dark,
the pitch no longer stark,
He rests on the last notes
and together they all float.
I turn my back.
I sneak a look behind my shoulder
to see him starting yet another.
With the sweet song sitting behind me,
I walk slowly, singing sadly to my own story.