Ghosts of Love
in funeral air
colourless grief bleeds
like a memorial of ravens
she sits alone on a stool
in an empty bar -
but the pianists plays
with each touch of the key,
her tears fall, lips quiver
dripping down her face -
mascara discolouring them black
like muddy puddles
on tip of scarlet lips
the more he strokes keys,
the more her sorrow spills -
she hopes he will stop,
but his melody continues
a melancholic musing of tones
in shades of sentimental sorrows
misplaced in music
her mind drifts in memories -
she was his mahogany violin
he her ivory flute
God the composer
if they had the chance
tongues would sing a million songs
receive an abundance of ovations
some notes on song sheets
can play to heavy
some too mellow
some remain blank-
like her heart
hollow,
soundless,
abandoned
without lyrics, there is no music,
ghosts of love bring no joy
so there is no
orchestra of dreams
his voice forever silent
like her tears ruining
her foundation
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