Fantasy, poem, poetry

The Pianist

The Pianist

Blue fingers smooth strings
dawn breaks on ivory keys
notes dance in the air.

His fingers tell tales
walk the keyboard high to low
sounding out its depths.

Hope’s frayed ends he braids
music circles his body
stands to defend him.

His demons roil
beneath a rumpled surface
his life comes in drips

Sips of cold water
he doesn’t use anymore
drugs bring a bad end.

They stop music’s flow
cauterize the addiction
burn it for music.

 He plays now for us
quiet hushes crowded streets
stopped commuters’ hear.

Listen to a song
a lonely heart finds solace
in symphonic arms.

~ ~ ~

For TLT Week 11, the Sunday  Whirl’s Wordle #246 & Six for Wednesday – 2

24 thoughts on “The Pianist”

  3. How beautifully you started Mel, and the way you flowed, like a melodious dream and brought it to a close like an unfinished divine symphony..leaves me wanting more.
    Absolutely breathtaking!!

    Liked by 1 person

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