On the stage under hot lights Sits the old grand piano Older than her great grandparents Who would’ve never made it in the door On the club where she stands now Leaning against old grand Hair falling down to her shoulders Body hugged in a cardinal red dress Her lungs filling with whispy smoke With her red lips making love To the mesh of the microphone Swaying to a song of her own design A rapt crowd is listening But all she sees is shadows Leaning into to hear her sirens song About the pain they’ve out her through Words lost on melodic notes Up here like on the street They feel the emotion and ignore her At least here they’ll know her name
Copyright © 2021 TJS Sherman All rights reserved.
Musing & Creating with T.J.S. Sherman 
Love the allusions here to current tensions by referencing the past, which is certainly relevant now. Very powerful piece, loved reading it.
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Thank you. I try to keep my poems relevant when it’s central to the theme I’m writing on.
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