Untitled.

Eighty eight keys on the piano,

Sixty seconds on the clock,

and your struggles are shown,

in the age shown on your hands and feet.

Feet,

like books, tell bold stories.

Eighty eight keys on the piano,

Sixty seconds on the clock,

and yes,

those pages inked by the stains of corruption,

of passion of lust and anguish -

you walked upon the shards of purgatory;

the blooming hyacinth;

the virgin snows of the Patagonian wilderness.

Eighty eight keys on the piano,

Sixty seconds on the clock,

There's one of you my love

and you walked on those feet,

upon it all,

And when you get tired my dear,

take footsteps towards me,

for I'll always catch you when you fall.

-LaurenAshley