Poetry

MUSIC (a sketchy February)

I heard a woman say once that
when you speak, its just words but
when you sing, you open your soul
and let who you really are shine through.
Cherie, you were not once a sad song,
you were the star that shines even in hell.

Have your chords become dampened by me?
Have these clefs found themselves a cliff?
Don’t tell me you stammer on Beethoven
Don’t you dare say musing on music is weak.
I know the questions that have answers
and my weakness can’t be your black keys.

When your lips open, what do they say?
What is the rhythm of your heart?
Answer me if water holds memories
Answer me if music quenches forgetfulness.
I am only a weak note wrapped in a song
if no one sings me, then I am a saddened bluff.

I heard a man say once that
when you speak, its just words but
when you write, you open your soul
and let who you really are phase through.
Dear Cherie, I have become the sad song
I am the star that draws his strength in a hell.

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