The Blues Poem by Myrtle Thomas

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