The arrival home is one comfort to soul, dare I escape a world of dismay.
The heat of skin thanks me, as I crash rather than lay
on cold plucky leather and take a drawn out sigh, for it feels nice to release the heat of mind.
What catches my eye away from the ceiling, while invasive thoughts I try
to block, I must lock to keep from running wild, instead they knock and harder they knock each time on in-doors with lights
left beaming, and still now I look to the ceiling, and stare into the empty white and imagine it inside my mind.
But again what catches my sight, a menacing puddle staining my empty ceiling delight, is a thick black cat, resting upon a piano top,
Whose stare would shock even an owl, a bat awoken with crocodile yellow eyes, is this cat.
Paws with an eagle-like claw intwined somewhere in a thick matte of colour-void mop.
My sigh has awoken this beast, one and then another ear pricks sharp; unfamiliar against such soft strokes of dark.
Unwilling to admit is this beastly girl, that she is wearing a winter coat, laying in a peak of unhinged heat, unbothered as if to gloat.
Stretch does she, as I begin to speak; are you mad cat? The forecast have you seen? As mad as a hatter I puff, frustratedly.
She looks only with one golden eye, ignoring my plea. What use is asking a cat of its thoughts, they all contain sleep.
Maybe the loss of mind is mine, for I am interrogating a cat and one that ignores me,
Back to not thinking I go, trying my best at-least, stop thinking! stop thinking! stop thinking you beast!
In the ceiling I saw peace, barely almost at ease. The mind… oh boy does it tease, for almost I could reach
a rake in the sand. All the while the silly thoughts they danced, and raked pictures in white ceiling
grain; drip drip into my eye so now I abandon any view today and breathe a long drawn out goodbye.
Tightly shut does stay mine, and somber keys mirror my sigh, like the sound of a heart slowly healing, dreary but yet so defined
by a sorrowful note, so low and behold it wallows like a mother who calls for her lost calf. Who wrote this beautiful tune that chokes?
It flutters for a moment and then higher the key floats, pitter patter into a minor like rainfall against plastic, or when the wind charms the chime the detail is fantastic.
Who wrote this? I must know! Was it my soul? afraid to open my eyes in case the sound revokes, who plays this I must know!