Piano + Notes + Flowers

[Can you tell I’m enjoying these? I might do them all week. Because stress sucks.]

One and two and three and four

And fingers dance across the keys

Impossibly fast, achingly slow

And a picture is painted of a time

When there were flowers at every meal

Roses, daisies, forget-me-nots

And the fragrance would be the first thing

And the last thing,

So perfect that the children would, when they went away to school,

Ask what was wrong,

Never able to place it.

They pass notes as the music plays,

But the trembling of the beaten strings knows


They forget, as they grow,

They forget the rose garden,

They forget what it is in the grand halls of sunlight and fountains

What it is to be free

Their hands haven’t touch the piano in years

They have more important matters to attend to

Because the opera is the here and now,

An avalanche of voices that scream at the damned

And if they could have just a single bloom

With their gin and tonic

That would be some blessing

But everything is rotted

And the piano is on fire

They are gone, their memories lingering like music in the last seconds of –

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