This is a poem I wrote to branch out and expand myself as a writer & artist. I wanted to paint a picture in the telling of a story about ones hidden pain & grief, all the while others merly stand by and admire the gift of his tourtuerd soul. This is…

The Piano Mans’ Blues

By Edward (LIMITLESS) Taylor III

In the darkness Ivory keys are stricken by fingers that plead for rescue. Emotions pour out in every note captured by ear –

we’re all prisoners of his sorrow.

As he plays the biography of his soul, from an F-sharp to a B-flat, each key possessing a different chapter of his life.

His hope drowns, the down beat pounds, & his cry of despair is heard once again in melody. His story is told his tragedies & victories these cords hold.

His music we applaud…

…as he heaves a second round of whiskey down his gullet, his fingers slamming ebony keys like a mallet, hammering his inability to forgive him-self; & as he plays his dreams fade away softly.

His blues!

O his blues swings in tempo, his only company is a saxophone & drum cymbal, & while we applaud him, his heart weeps!

Can’t you hear him?

Can’t you feel his turmoil?

Oh! His blues,

O his blues,

Tis the sorrow of his fading dreams…