Some random poem

The black piano,
it's keys crashing like waves on a desolate beach at midnight.
The black piano,
it's glide interrupted by poorly tuned wires breaking at the slightest touch.
The black piano,
it's melodic tune disintegrated under the hard hand of a once young man.

The black keys etched -
raven's talons wedged -
between the ivory tusks -
dancing among our ears, as it's sad song weeps through our mind and (through our) fears.
We hear the song, the call.

A screech, piercing the mid night silence,
like the full moons gaze at midnight;
fracturing the gray clouds overhead,
like splintering wood, bolts erupting from it's trunk.
We hear the song, the call.

And so it goes, this song, wind rose -
hanging heavily as though a gallows;
it's sweet after tone deceiving,
like rose petals,
floating,
in the mid-night breeze.