Her tears flow like drops on keys
Streaming ‘cross ivory like raging storms.
The notes her heart plays clash in sevenths
Never reaching resolution.
A crescendo builds and breaks
Crashing against shores of fifths
And shoals of minor tragedies.
The empty home is drowned in sound
As miseries are played as concerts
To a silent, echoed audience.
Her fingers trail her tears across the floor
And stroke them on the ebonies
Of sober, flattened harmonies.
Her heart lullabies a wild lament
That seasons ferment
And are sent to resent
A peak to the piece as her passion dies...
...and her wild eyes...
...are set to cry to where her anguish lies.
A piece is written on fear-stained staves.
And her heart and passion are laid as porcelain
Against the looming storms that rage.