He plays the piano
Rocking back and forth
Cradling each note
Giving life
But holding onto each
For just a single moment
Before it is released
Sent out into the cold world
To die or survive
It all lay in fate’s hands
Not his
Not anymore
The artist, the musician
With starving eyes
And frantic fingers
He swayed
With his head held back
Listening to the birth
Of each note
As it sprung forth
From nothingness
But the barren plane of his soul
He breathed life
Into each ivory key
As his fingers danced
Playing a sad
Yet beautiful song
The song of the sirens
Set out at sea
The bewitching words
Of a long forgotten curse
The notes passed through
His ragged body
Each throb of his veins
Pushed tired blood and music
That begged for life
And took everything
From it’s living master
A master who would die
For his masterpiece
With bleeding fingers
Pressed against bone keys
Each print left
On the piano
Left it’s bloodied print
On his haunted soul
But when the music
Has finally left
He has nothing
Is nothing
But a starving artist
Deprived of paint
He has nothing left
He gave it all up
For his sacred art
His Bible of notes
Gave his heart and soul
And all else he could give
But his ears to listen
And his fingers to play
As he cradled each new life
And sent it away