The Ivory Fields

The Ivory Fields

A Poem by Chris T.
"

The best and worst kind of music is man-made.

"

As the sun sleeps
Ivory keys weep
Pedals are still
beneath hammers posed to kill

The weeping keys
rest beneath blackened trees
they've got nothing left
Sharpened, flattened by death

A fire pops
as a sickly soul coughs
Crushing the keys
he spreads the disease
he spreads the disease
he spreads the disease





© 2014 Chris T.


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Added on March 9, 2014
Last Updated on March 9, 2014

Author

Chris T.
Chris T.

Pittsburgh, PA



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A Poem by Chris T.