The Blues
cob webs on a foggy morn
silent songs, melodies reborn
artful paintings hung askew
sunsets golden memories past due
cold assumptions harmonize
in depths of blind closed eyes
chords of ivory and ebony amuse
while left behind lovers sing the blues
the stars are the audience to the eternal show
what maestro orchestrated a broken heart? I don't know
the tunes solemn and sorrowful as a dark funeral day
tears dropp to the beat while they have their way
intense the orchestra romances the crowd
while inwardly the heart cries out loud
desires unquenched thirst, for nectar of mornings bliss
for only in dreams are found that sought for kiss.
MyrtleThomas
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem