Monday, July 13, 2009

The Unfinished Woman

She sits alone at the piano
Her face in shadows,

She writes the lyrics
No one will hear,
She breathes her fire,
Then scales it back

She doesn't finish her songs
Doesn't record her fears.

Life is like that you know,
A chord progression
That doesn't feel right.

She sits alone at the piano,
Her bird doesn't take flight,
Her step is out of rhythm,
Her heart out of tune.

If I could tell her,
Face in shadows,
We're all unfinished
Our ink is blurred

But somehow, alright.

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