Just some cliche stuff for fun. He's blind.


His wrists were taught in his office,
Eyes dead blue charcoal, fingers trying
To break through the chords he was playing
Into what lay beyond them.
His voice shook with the same
Black fire that made up his quivering red lips
And the shiver in the strings.
Fingers nearly bleeding down in rivers on his arm chair,
Trying to wring out of his body, love, and voice
That terrible fear. That terrible joy.
That terrible something,
That makes music art.
I like the idea of trying to "break through" the chords. However, I feel like this piece is almost overdone, that it could benefit from some subtlety, some ambiguity. Also, some images are rather lackluster--things like fingers bleeding a river, and eyes that are dead blue charcoal, all seem generic or not as profound as they could be.

Good luck, and thanks for the read!
I owe a ton of people critiques.

If you're one of them, please PM me.

I have trouble keeping track.