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For Ed

MasamanMasaman Posts: 17
edited October 2003 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
Six strings align beneath his worn fingers
Memories appear in random notations
Voices resound the empty pockets of his mind
Speaking in letters though never in words

Random emotions evoked by a trained hand
Song swims the dark innards of the beast
Then slips from the black like blood from an open wound
Painting the sky with all the colours of his life

His broken voice strains to recreate the timbre of his youth
Scribbled words in black and blue flout time
Fingers evaporate in a violent ocean wave
‘Play on’ they cry ‘Play on’
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • Radar(Baba)O'RileyRadar(Baba)O'Riley Posts: 947
    You forgot to mention his wavy blond hair :)

    Very nice piece.
  • keven 33keven 33 Posts: 259
    waiting at the train station
    im early for my trip
    so i write and listen in on the
    language of the birds
    i freakin fly ya know

    heading to a city far away
    my family ship me off and the
    anticipation is pain

    i know it will be long
    to view the cars that stop for
    the train rolling through

    and when i get to this destination
    will all the lights turn red
    or will there be a mistake of human error
    something we read about again and again

    but its all in my mind when i get there
    she gonna love me i know

    cause this poem is about a trip
    i already took

    and this is a true story

    wow i went to on a train and i remember
    thinking what if the cars dont stop for us
    they all did like most times but when i got to
    the city i met a friend who was like me
    it was all good, ya know im sure you been
    there but when you broke and you girl
    sends you out the house and you miss
    your babies a friend is really loving

    i went to class the next day and the headlines were
    this truck running through the stop sign and
    hitting a train causing more pain

    but really its jesus day
    convicted
  • BhagavadGitaBhagavadGita Posts: 1,748
    Originally posted by Radar(Baba)O'Riley
    You forgot to mention his wavy blond hair :)

    Very nice piece.
  • BhagavadGitaBhagavadGita Posts: 1,748
    Originally posted by Masaman
    Six strings align beneath his worn fingers
    Memories appear in random notations
    Voices resound the empty pockets of his mind
    Speaking in letters though never in words

    Random emotions evoked by a trained hand
    Song swims the dark innards of the beast
    Then slips from the black like blood from an open wound
    Painting the sky with all the colours of his life

    His broken voice strains to recreate the timbre of his youth
    Scribbled words in black and blue flout time
    Fingers evaporate in a violent ocean wave
    ‘Play on’ they cry ‘Play on’

    just wondering if you have found out what type of animal you are possessed by?

    don't strain your voice, timbre of youth may or maynot come back but your art will also change with you.
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