Convulsions rack my body
A new assault of tears
'Plans for war!'
A proud headline.
I slump at the piano.
Despair weighs my shoulders –
What a world I live in.
It is not modern! Stop lying!
Still, War a torrent!
My fingers rest on the keys.
Bombs rain down upon the ivory
Drop. Blink. Drop.
Numbness. Misery. Anger.
My passion channels into the notes;
The piano cries too.
War blinds the leaders as
Tears blind my eyes.
Bloodshed blinds the merciless;
Shame of them blinds me.
Clumsy fingers grope at F#
She sings halfheartedly
Why can't my music bring peace home
As Shostakovich's 7th Symphony did so well
In the face of all despair?
Bloodied fingers continue to play
My bloodied fingers; my bloodied piano.
This nuclear threat
So stark and violent
Sends chills up my vertebrae
Every time I hear its name.
Man's bloodied fingers; man's bloodied piano.
May our anger be taken out on this instrument
For this instrument has the power to save lives.
May its screams of anguish be heard, just as our brothers' were.
May our brothers' bloodied hands bloody my piano,
And you will see the bloodshed of centuries.
Our bloodied hands, our bloodied piano.
I give it to you in hope of reformation
So that you do not give in to your urges of brutality,
But instead your urges of atonement.
And that your brutality instead is inflicted upon those keys.
For you have the power to save lives.
You have the power of the piano.
YOU ARE READING
A Scripturient
PoetryI write poems occasionally. This is my collection, vastly concerning love and abuse, nature and artificial. I hope you enjoy - please leave comments to guide my improvement! Thank you!
