Piano Keys

The blood drips,
From the piano keys.
His hand holds the thorns,
From the rose she once owned.

His grip tightens,
More blood falls,
He does not flinch,
No emotions at all.

The blood now hits the floor,
A pool has formed,
Around his souls,
No movement at all.

Lost all emotions,
The will to move,
No more sorrow,
No life at all.

A lantern moves in the distance,
As lightning strikes outside,
Something is stirring,
Maybe a raven in the hall.


Some time passes,
He looks around,
Wipes a tear from his eye,
In death he falls.

© 2012-2016

By Bryan Deakin

Hello and welcome to my site, my name is Bryan Deakin, 35yr old from Scotland. A Dyspraxic, Poet, Blogger and Community Activist, I studieda BSc(Hons) Sustainable Development, at the University of Highlands and Islands. Lover of all things Greek and Finnish, and a keen and active member of Falkirk SNP. Prior I was Vice President of Simple Machines, and Project Manager at Simple Machines Forum (SMF).

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