Rising Phoenix
06-27-2006, 09:51 PM
just wrote this:
The piano.
The girl with the piano.
The one who danced away.
In the garden of red roses.
She lies there motionless.
A small bird shall sing.
Not of joy, not for love.
But for sorrow.
For her eyes are cold.
Her hair filled with leaves.
And her heart cold.
And the piano’s silent.
Her ghost haunting me.
Telling me that there’s hope.
For were there’s death.
There’s life.
Were there’s sorrow.
There’s joy...
by R.P.
The piano.
The girl with the piano.
The one who danced away.
In the garden of red roses.
She lies there motionless.
A small bird shall sing.
Not of joy, not for love.
But for sorrow.
For her eyes are cold.
Her hair filled with leaves.
And her heart cold.
And the piano’s silent.
Her ghost haunting me.
Telling me that there’s hope.
For were there’s death.
There’s life.
Were there’s sorrow.
There’s joy...
by R.P.