The Ballad of The Boy Who Played the World


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In the days when the lands were dark
And orange moons circled above,
There was a boy who carried the mark
Of music and of love.

His bones were formed from melodies
That floated on his skin.
His fingers held a remedy
Made from strings and pen.

But his ears fell deafly on the sounds
Strummed out in heavenly rhythm,
a silence that would confound
And create in him, a schism.

He wandered around the giant world
And collected many listeners,
For they could feel the music unfurl
When he played for all his visitors.

But none of these people made
His ears open for a song,
So he played for all their sakes
And hoped he wasn’t wrong.

Until a day when he played a sound
That filled his ears with sorrow.
He searched through faces in the crowd
For someone he could follow.

And then he saw the lonely girl’s face,
The one he saw around,
And realized he had ended his chase
Inspiration, he had found.

She smiled at him and turned away
Disappearing without a word,
And his song held pain he couldn’t say
And they wept when they heard.


This was written as part of the Blogging U course. The prompt was hero, the form was ballad, and I didn’t use the devices anaphora and epistrophe. I wrote a story called The Boy Who Played the World, and it was almost a poem. For this assignment, I chose to turn it into a poem. I still like the story better though. ๐Ÿ™‚


9 thoughts on “The Ballad of The Boy Who Played the World

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