Sunday, November 21, 2010

The Season of Solitude

When I spoke to her in the morning,
The words, they lingered in my throat,
She was angry, yes, but why?
I know not.

She left in a hurry, left a messy room behind,
left her mother’s ring and left her tattered waistcoat behind,
She left unquestionable answers, and unanswerable questions behind,
She left, a broken man behind.

As I stooped to pick up the pieces,
I was drawn to the only light that flowed through,
a broken window, I looked, and saw beauty,
and I saw hate.

The streets outside are white with snow,
The river is frozen in rectitude,
This season has hope of spring in store,
But is itself the Season, of solitude.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

The Music Stopped Playing

 

A Silence in Solitude,
a darkness of sound,
an audile void,
where music was once found.

The magic has passed,
The talent all gone,
the virtuosity lost,
whence music was once spawned.

A condemnation for debauchery,
punishment for transgressions,
of a soul, lost in a world,
of concealed expressions.

A Box full of empty promises,
A voice full of despair,
A mind full of anxiety,
A life of disrepair.

She smiled like the devil,
sight and sound were lost,
the light turned to darkness,
and the sound forever paused.