"Black & White Keyed Fingers (Passing the Poison On)"

Decades ago it came to pass 
    along the prison watchtower 
    of black and white keyed fingers
That the instrument you so hated
   (and loved)
Spoke to you like a Harp on a Cross
    resounding with Rules and Rulers.

Said pianoforte was really a
   FORTEpiano
Its searchlights eery and relentless 
   the changing of the guard
   every Saturday afternoon
As you were walked to your weekly 
   Day of Judgement.

You sought
   salvation and reformation 
Yet refused to unfuse yourself
   from your trauma
Such unfamiliarity feeling too much like 
   scorching ice
Not knowing if those searchlights
   would go back on 
   or stay off.   

And here we are, now . . . 

Your progeny, 
   feeling the spark of your love 
   for said instrument of loud and soft, soft and loud,
Have imbibed its magic and splendor
   with your sincerest support. 

And yet . . .

You feel compelled to sabotage their journey
   to justify your rage 
   and postpone your own salvation.
Because you wouldn’t take out your own dagger,
   you had no choice but to 
Pass the poison on . . . 
   that you swore you buried 
In the watchtower of black and white fingers . . .  

 

 

July, 2025

 

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©2025, Michael Smolens