I want to play the gracefulness of a harp, equal its elegance.
Reveal its harmony by stroking the silver strings,
voicing my mind, and see what the music brings.
My memory sings.
The melody melancholically guiding my fingers through the metal bars.
A prison of pitches.
Each pitch either a whispered prayer or a wail, preying
on the sound of my soul.
The harp's harmony lures my will.
I'm its muse,
meddling in a musical mess.
YOU ARE READING
Scatterings - a collection of random poems
PoetryA collection of random poems, rooted from either very deep emotions or just a random wiritng prompt, or both. Updated when inspiration strikes. Enjoy!
