The orb glows,
Grows,
Glares and flares,
Boils and bursts,
Behind my eye,
Blinds my mind,
To the dark,
Dazzles me senseless,
Into a glorious moment,
A ****** of A silver
Sliver of hope,
Of happiness numbed,
Of pain.

But too bright,
The glass shatters,
Breaks my joy,
In two,
Once again,
And my mind shuts down,
And drowns in its own misery,
And goes to sleep.

Fingers flying,
As I watch the,
Flickering flame,
In the reflection,
Of these familiar,
Windows.

Creating melodies,
On a whim,
A feeling,
A chance at beauty,
Occasionally,
Revealing a delicate,
Flower of a moment,
Blooming so suddenly,
Dying just as fast.

To most,
It meant little,
Enough to sound elegant.

But only four,
Understood,
Truly how hard it was,
To rest my fingers on those keys,
Calm my frantic heart,
And dive into song.

The taste of truth,
On my tongue,
And the silver silk of sorrow,
That was tied around my wrists,
Fell to the concert hall floor.