to compose

you have your ivory keys
and your harpsichord dreams
your entire being
poured onto your page
so you write your own music
under chord, pen and ink

but when you scrawl
with your little shaking hands
a crooked note
onto the scale
they sneer
staring with their coal black eyes
at your little hunched frame
as your masterpiece lies
collapsed under the weight of the world

Author's Note

I'm not too proud of this one. It's been rewritten and revised a bit and I think I've deprived it of its original "splendor" so to speak..
Anyway, I think I've made the point of this poem relatively clear, but I'd love to hear some of your interpretations.

Reviews

[DA]

Well, this one's very good. I really liked it! The style, grammar, and flow were excellent. Keep me updated on your poems.

[Cree Nations]

this a good poem. do not sell yourself short. You do have talent, now you need to nurture it.