There's music in my heart, a forlorn melody,
Music that wants to sing, music that wants to cry,
Music for the organ, symphony, rhapsody…
And I can't give it birth, no matter how I try.
There are poems in my heart, words that sing and laugh,
But when I cast them onto paper, in black ink,
They just seem to turn into useless empty gaffe,
Like heavy stones cast on water, ready to sink.
There's a landscape in my heart… beautiful meadow,
With sunshine, green grass and flowers swaying gently…
But when I want to paint it, a deep dark shadow
Is cast all over it, brutally, abruptly.
There is love in my heart, a gently soothing love,
For all the sins of this world ready to atone,
But when I release it to fly, soar like a dove…
There is nothing in my heart… just a heavy stone….
© P J Oszmann (2006) [Reworked from an unfinished sketch in Hungarian of ca. 1951]
© Illustration created in Photoshop (2006)
Regis
Connie
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Fine work, Peter.
I like this composition... "There's music in my heart…" passes through the four seasons of emotions to end as an ICEBERG.
I salute You, Poet.
In admiration,
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU