The Pianist

The Pianist

The craftsman’s care and splitting hairs has come:
The ivory touches gleam with new intent,
The blackened bones that break resolve with numb
And seemingly unknowing strength sit pent
And placid, still – so still, until he comes.
The living shadow looms and casts his skin
Across the beast, hands chained by peace undone
As Titans clash against the skeletons.
A thunder roars as fingers tear apart
The silence, striking quick to quell the fear
That such a foe can bring to break the heart –
A weaker man would bow instead of rear
His hands and bring a Hell of gorgeous tone
Cascading crashing over keys of bone

Anarchy

Anarchy

In nimble shoes I find I'm led to ground,
Through alleyways, down gutters long and full
Of everything I've searched for, longed to sound
Aloud in private joy, my mouth a hole
To leak in light and form the simple forms
Of smiles, laugh the simple laugh of glee
And drain the simple drain of all the norms.
Down here, below the ground I feel so free,
Unfettered by the callous ropes we tie
As one: in unison we claim to step
Beyond the grind that is to be an I,
But truly do the thoughtful feet misstep.
I'm glad, in truth, that though I'm lost in path,
I see not all the numbers, but the math.