The Creation
The empty house murmured of loneliness and sorrow.
Its feelings bled, covered, and asphyxiated the divine soul
Of a man who lived for a cured tomorrow.
The remedy for this affliction sat alone; only it could console.
In one corner, where trickles of light could rain through.
It was a magical creation with only one goal.
It brought forth a new resistance, gave the man a better view.
With the creation he could defeat the evil pain.
Long and hard the man worked with the creation, and the magic grew.
The cure swam through the air, entangled and wrapped like a chain.
Soon the house began to lighten and warm.
The man and the creation stopped, but knew the evil had been slain.
The man took a step back; the creation began to transform.
He shook his head - it had been and always will be a piano.
The sickness couldn't touch him; all he had to do was perform.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
