Turned on the music
To romance the riot in the soul
Hoping that the Chopin
Might clear the clog in his mind.
Ah it led him into the trails of
Viola, in Sonata on the 21
Sorrow converging on his soul like a fog
Shifting him low and high, emotions in a storm.
She said to him,
“Feelings are fickle” and he had never understood
But today the chords paint frowns
Gloomy smile on sad clown, he.
The song plays and he tries to grasp
To hold onto it’s misty skeleton,
Yet it is fleeting as these temporary fickle feelings.
Alas she was right. But she was wrong too.
See, she’s not here now yet he keeps staring
Green light at the dock,
Hoping she will come.
But she left,
Feelings fickle stood still
And she had said yes on the Vanilla hill
Felt a diamond on her tender fingers.
He remained lost, lofty yet in the dungeon
The music took him everywhere yet no where
Like she had done
He still never understood, the music was temporary
There was always going to be a new song
And the old would never be virgin again
He still never understood
Feet cannot be placed on the whirling winds
Solid ground is what he needs
A firm place to place his feet. A Rock.