penetrates through the roof –
slates no shield against such power
in music beautiful, a natural magic –
bursts to a brain still in slumber
and there converts to dreams
more active thoughts played out
unawares in a mind troubled.
A hand in a hand
fading into mist, fingertips
reaching for one last tender touch;
stealing one last glance
before sandstorms tear them away
into quickened heartbeat
of pained wakeful world.
This violence causes blood
to rush to cheeks, a sigh –
desperate, stricken – to escape
lips that had awaited completion
by her other.
Eyes moist with tears
open to a room yet bleak,
cold light of dawn a truth
when this morning filled only with
sad feathered song.