Ghost Hands

The girl seems light as can be;

Trust me, she’s heavy

Raining pianos are falling down

All around

And she’s pounding all of these

Looking for a way to believe

Or unlock

An ephemeral dream

It’s hardly planned

She has a ghost in her hands

Upright, clavier, electrically;

She fumbles at those keys

And she’s grand, baby, grand

Concert bound

Ivories tickled and turning brown

Until finally she’s found

The key

To her identity

It’s hardly planned

She has a ghost in her hands

The girl seems baleful, wailing now

Then lilting, higher, wonder how

She feels that soul

Or her role

In this symphony

Sounds difficult, but what is ease?

If not to find one’s sweet release

Or solace

On this day’s staff

She sounds just grand

She has a ghost in her hands

Jeff Jenkins – With Grateful Thanks To @amyarani


About scribblerjeff

wordswurdswirds is the first-time ever blog on words, language, and the culture they invoke, through the eyes, mind, and keyboard of Jeff Jenkins. Jeff is a Christian/outlaw, husband, father, reader, writer, theologian, philosopher, and pre-apocalyptic, pop-culture prophet of the new media, which is the same as the old media. There is nothing new under the Sun. When I am not writing this blog, I am selling commercial janitorial services, though in my mind, I am already at the California Coast with my family and friends. Word! View all posts by scribblerjeff

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