Lost Music

Still, the music haunts me,
That you played on my heart strings.
When you wakened my lost feelings,
I thought it one of life's magical things.
I would that I had not heard it,
Because I only yearn for more;
I strain, through every waking moment,
To find, and unlock, that door.
But nothing brings the music forth,
That I once heard every day;
I see other people, listening,
And have to turn my head away.
It makes me bitter and selfish
And I only wish to hide!
I'm angry, that I can't hear the music,
And it withers me inside.
The callous is back, around my heart;
Yet, somehow, it is more tender;
I push away those that stray too near,
I wish never again to surrender.

© MadPoetnExile

That one makes me cry, Mad. Got another?

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This poem was actually published, much to my surprise, by a vanity publisher back in '97 and again, even more surprisingly, in '98. I submitted under two different aliases, Cosmic Debris and Stevie Smith. You can find them, or submit your own poem, at Poetry.com. I only recently disovered this by following a link at another poet's page. The reason it is so surprising is I was always under the impression that vanity publishers published only the works of those poets who purchased copies of the book. Now I am confused, because I did not. In fact, the next poem I will post here is a diatribe which I wrote regarding vanity publishers and unscrupulous money~grabbing editors. I wrote it just before I closed my doors to the external world and the internet (once again). Like most humans, I am somewhat sensitive to criticism internally, although I would never let 'em see me sweat, externally. Perhaps I am too sensitive, at times, because I will clam up and disappear if someone gets too very harsh and hurts my feelings. It is the reason why I am the Mad Poet in Exile.