Simple Poetry

Musical Eyes

One key after another,

not pressed, but played

out.

An enchanting song,

on a dusty piece of wooden beauty 

that's been shunned for years,

because no one thought

they had the proper fingers

to rightfully appease the poor thing.

One day, there just wasn't enough

of anything.

The little green paper had slipped

from the pockets to which it rightfully belonged,

because dishonest fingers

learned their trade well.

The piano slipped

from everyone's grasp likewise.

To shed a tear for a simple dollar,

because that's the

appropriate way to go about things.

There was no more humming of music,

not even that from the ghosts

that sat over the

piano

during it's weary years.

There was nothing but a slight

small table with flowers on it,

like the flowers would cry

and sing the piano's final song

and tears.