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Lost souls
By beamish
Search my soul with sounds of your dead violin
Sing to me words that ring off key
Sounds that howls dark in the night
The beauty that was is now lost from my perfect sight
Dead fingers strum chords on a broken guitar
decaying life's dreams
She holds the mic
She cries out for her life
A vase on the piano holds flowers - wilted by her sad desires
Shadowed by this place
Her face stays hidden
It's a show
Below
The shiny lights of Broadway
Frequented by freaks
Living below the streets
It's a sold out show
nightly
full of lost souls
Forgot by those beautiful sheep one flight above
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Copyright 2016 beamish
Published on Monday, October 24, 2016.
Filed under:
"Poetry"
Comments on "Lost souls"
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On Monday, October 24, 2016, Devil lyn
(368)
wrote:
It was your opening stanza that had me hooked, right down to the last word of this poem ... so much pain & beautiful darkness all while hearing the strum of a violin echoing in the background ... Excellent ink!
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On Monday, October 24, 2016, beamish
(137) wrote:
I love reading your comments. Thank you
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