The Piano - a poem

Another poem, inspired by a story idea I haven't been able to use yet.



Fingers caress ivory keys,
smelling of ink, of herbal teas.
Skirts whisper against faded floorboards,
where thousands of fears,
and silent tears were poured.
She slips onto the ancient bench,
braving the memories that entrench.
Weaving each note like a thread,
she hides a beloved story,
a tremor in her heart unsaid.
Somber melodies rise and give voice,
to the ache, to the sorrow
that helps her rejoice.
The piano stands proud
and with class, guards the heart of a silent
weary lass.
A fragile smile surfaces,
lifted by a hope that reverses
all of her shattered dreams,
and chases away
all of the dark one's schemes.
Wrists lift for an extra beat,
giving pause for a phrase complete.
Fingers tie each thread in a chord,
it hovers over her and the piano,
the piano so dearly adored.

Words of War

These words are for the
times of
tears and times of sorrows.
Times when
darkness feels close and
bitterness tastes sweet.
When,
fear wraps its firey arms
around your heart,
and lies cool your pain
with gentle fingers.

Never give up, don't ever
give in.
Brace yourself now, 'cause
this is war
and we intend to win.

These words are for
times of
complacence, times of plenty.
Times when,
everything is meaningless
and life is mundane.
When,
your strength becomes weakness
while loss becomes gain.
and your perception is distorted
with the sweetest of truths.

Never give up, don't ever
give in.
Brace yourself now, 'cause
this is war
and we intend to win.

These words are the
times of
chaos and times of storms.
Times when
your walls are breaking apart
and the sky is falling in.
When,
terror strikes at the dead of night,
to steal the life you always had,
and memories guard your heart
with soothing songs of mourning.

Never give up, don't ever
give in.
Brace yourself now, 'cause
this is war
and we intend to win.

Thes words are for the
people of
the earth, of this shattered world.
A people that
have lived on a diet of deception
and misinterpretations.
That,
have wandered from the river
containing their life-blood,
and though roots may go deep
they may also be mislead.

Never give up, don't ever
give in.
Brace yourself now, 'cause
this is war
and we intend to win.

Train to the Unknown

Yeah. I know it's late, but this idea just would not leave me alone. So. Here, a little piece of flash fiction for your pondering. Sleep is calling. G'night! (Oh, and I did draw the picture, like a year ago :P)

     You are boarding on a train. You don't know where it's going, just know that it's moving forward through  the wasteland of  lies, pain, shame, and brokenness. This journey is not for the one who is easily swayed, the one who sees no wrong in their world. It is not for those who are content to live peacefully in this warped reflection of reality. You settle in a seat next to a window. Rain drops spatter the glass. Sliding down through the grime, they gather on the ledge under the pane, then hurl to the cracked earth below. You wrest your gaze from the window and look at the others who will be joining you. Their expressions are somber and when you meet their eyes they nod appreciatively. All who have come know that the way will be difficult.  There will be no retreat. Some will jump when the wanderlust is gone, look for a new adventure, but they will  fall deeper than they ever were into the damaged life they left behind. 

      

     "Listen up all you Sojourners, Seekers, Followers, and Hopefulls - Your last chance to turn back unscathed is here. Take it or leave it," 

     

     The voice reverberates in your head. Last chance. Turn back. Griping the arm-rest until your knuckles whiten, you breath quickens. People shift in their seats, exchanging apprehensive glances. Four, five honest souls clatter off the train. Silence reigns.

     "Anyone else?" The voice queries.

     Two more straggle out the doors. 

     "All right then, hang on tight, here we go!"

       The floor lurches beneath you and you press your hand to the cold window. The landscape whips past, your heart pounds in your chest. In a matter of moments everything that made who you were is gone. When you look backwards an abyss of shattered dreams stares back mockingly. Trembling, you yank the shade down. 

     Footsteps break through your numbness. Someone slides onto the seat next to you. Gentle fingers press a warm cup into your chilled hands. Strong arms encircle your shoulders, "You aren't the same person now. Don't be afraid, my Child, I will never leave you, I will never give you up. I am your Abba, and I will never stop loving you."