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Blackbird MAG
October 7, 2009
Creased fingers pluck old strings
Closed eyes
Moving lips
Blackbird sound
Old skill brought back
Old song
Old notes
Old love and care and moments
Fingers play
In the dance of home
Invisible notes
Fly
Tickle my throat
My eyes
Wrapped in blankets
Warmth flows through me
Around me
In me
Out the window
‘Round the world
In my heart
The music sounds
For some reason
I cry
© Bianca A., Damascus, MD
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This article has 5 comments.
accio-sarcasm said...
on Oct. 10 2009 at 12:05 pm
I agree! Great writing, beautiful poem.
Elle R. said...
on Oct. 9 2009 at 5:02 pm
I like this piece it just made me want 2 play my instraments. :)
xxjosiexx143 SILVER said...
on Oct. 8 2009 at 10:36 am
this is REALLY good writing. I love it. Keep it up!
cross.fire BRONZE said...
on Oct. 7 2009 at 4:56 pm
I like this. It reminds me of that bird, that music I always seem to see and hear.
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"Life's no fun if you're not insane, otherwise you grow up to be an accountant." -Moi
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