The Harpist

It was long ago that the harp met such a hand

So gentle to strum a resonate sound.

His fingers came to life with all seasons abound,

Plucking notes like feathers to each vibrating strand.   

He poured his depth and soul into melody

With tears that touched the cheeks of angels above.

His face of lyrical lies weighed on his heavy heart, always begging for love.

(But there was the box of ebony).

It was one show after fresh roses and bouquets, 

Patent leather shoes and musty perfumes hanging in the air,

That in his pocket I noticed the shape of a square,

And in that box of ebony he would never say. 

He waited for steady applause as the spot was on him.

The harp balanced perfectly on his knee;

Such purity and trickling vows he set free

When he unleashed the freedom hymn.

We soared like doves in open blue sky,

Misted ourselves with icy mountain water to fill

Our seeds of grain in fall by the harvest mill;

He took us where he wanted to fly.

Throughout the audience we held our breath

As we watched him flow anguish into crescendo. 

We gasped as beauty shone on the stage-like an angel-aglow, 

Though we went higher and higher, we feared falling to our death.

I started to cry as I heard resounding cracks

Of bloody ankles and broken toes.

He never noticed the cries of pain, and continued to compose

Measure on the journey we travelled with him - his last act. 

As his last audience we sat victim to his life

On fragile wings upheld by memory alone,

But I was one who noticed the mismatched patches merely sewn

On his elegant suit, held together by anguish and strife.

It was then I understood and startlingly caught his gaze

With one eye that held an overflowing tear as we neared the end

(My belief is he now did something he did not intend),

And he stopped in the middle of a phrase.

He stared a moment longer and breathed a sigh,

Set down his beautiful harp and swiftly brought out a boxed mystery.

He said, “Friends, this is a gift alone and a history."

And then we understood his final goodbye.

With the hand that produced fervid music ablaze,

Fingers that sifted through strings of angel’s hair,

A small velvet box was opened- the inner demon’s lair.

It was in that box of ebony and velvet that took his life in whole;

His candid desire that circled his heart and bound 

With rope the final sound of resonance, with 

The patches in his suit to intertwine with his soul.

Author's Note

This started out as a sad poem about how I feel about a particular friend, but I just went with it. I don't know.

Reviews

[.........]

It builds this beautiful reminiscing kinda thing, like a personal relationship with somebody all the way through and as a reader and one in the audience i began to admire this harpist. I was picturing myself kind of backstage watching, almost as if i were standing right next to you as you told this story, watching from behind the curtain as this person played music. i like the idea of the ebony box containing the basic ending, and the way you tied in the music to the ending of someone's life, though im wondering if maybe it wasnt quite a life but a certain phase. the narrator seems innocent but full of insight and knowledge, and curiosity about the box. you somehow managed to fill an entire poem with emotion without letting out a single emotion from yourself that would reflect what your emotion toward this person is. you merely admire the musical identity of the person and not the person within, which leads me to believe that you are trying to not see exactly what things are within, just what they appear to be, almost as if you are trying to zoom out for a farther away view. that's the imagery i got here. the music seems to be some sort of style or attitude this person has, and the choice to essentially end the music is of vital importance in this poem. I especially favored the last stanza. Your imagery was very good. "the patches in his suit to inter-wine with his soul", good job hayley, this is one of my favorites

[Veronica Chandler]

This is one incredibly beautiful piece with images so vivid I felt for a moment I could hear the melodies, smell the musty perfume, and see the harp. Absolutely wonderful piece.

[Ruth]

WOW! This is special love! A brilliant piece of work!
I really think this is amazing! The use of emotion within the pulse of metaphor clings to the soul from reading this!
Stunning and 100!
xx

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

A fantastic imagery intense prose, I was entranced, viable and pointed my darling, a very well researched and structured piece, very well done, great read.

[Neva Flores Smith - Cha..]

I am thinking that this is a depiction of someone who is seen at first to have great beauty and charm, but as time goes on those hidden flaws and imperfections grow and grow and become so obvious that they are no longer hidden by the outer beauty. Perhaps the soul inside is dark and with time one can see this and at the same time see that the person they thought they knew was not that person at all........wonderful write Hayley!

[Erinne S.]

Wow! This was really good! I really liked the imagery you used in this piece :)

~Erinne

[kdpgrahi]

Very good in this description of a story in poetic form. enjoyed.

[piggy]

rich and luscious.

a velvet symphony

[Omar Fendri]

your words tell a very beautiful story with a taste of tragedy... I really enjoyed the image and the structures which were perfectly written..
_I started to cry as I heard resounding cracks

Of bloody ankles and broken toes.

He never noticed the cries of pain, and continued to compose

Measure on the journey we travelled with him - his last act. _
amazing piece ... I like it