Poetry Drawer: Macabre by A. K. Hepburn

death piano

Death’s true calling
was music: he built
a piano, with keys
of blanched bones;
strung it with sinews
and tuned it with
secrets, from the grave,
exhumed and stolen.

From it, he wrung
symphonies of emotion,
the elusive spectrum,
and let the searing melody
surround him –
empty spectator,
dancing on the
other side of the veil.

 

 

 

 

 

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