A Song without Words: Metaphor Poetry Part 1

My family is a piece of music

My mother is the paper

Upon which we scribble reminders and

Imprint our countless mistakes

She is not impatient but

Bears with our pencil marks,

For all mistakes can be erased

My father is the chords

Sometimes in dissonance

Sometimes in perfect chordal harmony

Like pillars on a page,

They provide a root

For my brother’s simple melody,

For his notes that are sometimes bossy

Never in perfect pitch

But makes up for with enthusiasm

My grandma is the aria

Once dazzling

But what beauty time took away

She replaced with elegance and grace

Finally, me, the overly ambitious ,

4 voiced part that never sounds right

No matter how hard I try

It’s a tune that sounds like a little

Of everything put together by

The careless wave of a distracted composer

But if you listen to it closely

Put your ear to it, for it doesn’t wish to be heard

You might discover the beauty

It hold underneath