Weary Hands

Sat, 08/16/2014 - 12:30 -- azsxw1


Weary hands,
move once more.
Pressing white and black,
once more.
Into a vision from his heart
From his head
For all to see.
His heart races
His hand paces 
to the beat
Holding each note hostage in his hands
Until due release,
by the law which encapsulates and ends his sanction.
His invisible art so clear and new,
give him a glance,
give him,
give him your eyes and see his face,
See the black, blank, busy tearing eyes
Grow ever more dim
Expressing on key,
luminescence and limitations inside,
within him,
Not his Heart,
but his very being.
When He cried, 
So did the Keys,
When He Laughed,
So did the Keys
And when His Heart Broke,
So did the Keys
When He needed a friend,
so did the Keys
When his friends spoke,
so did the keys
And when he left,
so did the keys
And soon when his keys walked away
Much like his hands did over them
Day in and day out
His love and joy did as well
He would crawl in the dark crying to himself
Crying out for expression of himself
He thought he could find it again
Those keys who spoke his thought
But alas much like his fallen friends,
so he was lost with out his keys.
Now look at him,
See his words
See your self
His god no longer grows louder as he commands it to do
Bowing with his hand spread,
his weary hands,
forcing himself
Into the sound,
into the music,
into the Truth.
His true self accepting the dark
Hiding behind his curtain
For none to see
He stays,
lives behind there for
The Piano on the other side.
Why won't he pass his wall?
Why can't he accept it?
Why won't he sit and talk again?
Why can't he?
Why won't he?
Passing note by note
Each fall ill and fading to the passing time
Devouring his pain,
devouring his story,
devouring who he'll never be,
devouring Who he can't stand
Devouring what was in the air
 the ear,
 who he was,
  who he loves,
   who he gave to,
    his weary hands.


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