Conductors

I picked up my hands and rested them on these keys
Awaiting the inspiration for my tragic symphonies
As I pounded my thoughts onto a canvas of white
My fingers dancing along, so contrite
As they couldn’t seem to step along like they used to
Tired of repeating the same sad songs they always do
But this music, this eerie tune that has been created
Has defined me, and my hands, as they are jaded
From pushing down on the keyboard, like gravity has been pushing down on me
Finding that my fingers have been doing all the work, as they gently
Peruse through the most inner workings of my delicate heart
Pulling on the strings, trying to jumpstart
This beating, the one that I have been taking while my heart tried to recover
From the emptiness that it feels, as it hides beneath the covers
Like a child, afraid of the darkness, or what lies within it
And the possibilities are never ending, they are infinite
Pieces of the imagination, but what if that’s all they are and ever were?
What if this is all in my head, this music that continues to stir
Up the ashes of my shattered heart and all of its wildest dreams
Sweeping them beneath the rug, and into the darkened seams
Of this world, as they are lost between cobwebs and cement
And I got lost down there, no one ever sent
For help, or an aid to the victim of her own infectious mind
This rapid containment of my thought process could not be defined
As it spread throughout my veins, not like a disease
But like a reminder, a notice to my entire body that these
Fingers are the conductors of my silent reverie
My final cry for substance, as my eyes have grown heavy