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The Piper
| Open Poetry #48 |
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The Piper |
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Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666California 
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The Piper He walks the city, night by night, Gathering trash— to self mumbling. More's the pity, by godless rite Where the waves crash, he starts to sing. A song, echoing in the wind, It swirls its taint throughout the mind. All who hear know Darkness will lend A brush to paint their world blind. They follow him; he never sees, Lost somewhere in Misery's cloud. As by some grim, ghastly disease His charge of sin is disavowed. And though adored by one— by all, He yet alone incurs their wrath. As dream ignored goads him to fall Unto Fate's moaning aftermath. And still he sings, he just can't stop; Focal point blurred, but yet unbroken. One face that stings, amongst a crop He reaps through words ever misspoken. Like a vortex spun round and round Upon the grounds, they're drawn to him. Where like a hex, all vision bound; Darkness resounds, intentions grim. And still he marches, but a pawn, Driven by winds he never feels. 'Neath the arches of hope undrawn, While Death descinds to ride his heels. To seek him is to take your chance, And yet somehow you know you must. The allure his, you have to dance. All that's left now, your date with dust. Michael Anderson |
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| © Copyright 2013 Michael Anderson - All Rights Reserved | |||
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
Death has a new face, one that only Michael Anderson could give. I love the rhyming of this poem, as usual it was superb, and the overall plot and subject was felt by me most vividly. ~*~ I want to hear a Jim Croce song, but it will cut too deep, be too real. ~*~ |
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