Pandora’s Box

In the back of the mind

There’s a key to a lock

Of a box that plays music

When the latch is unstopped

By lifting the lid

Plays a melody sweet

Then thickens like pitch

To a foreboding beat

In all nothing more

Than a pallet for paint

With lights against darks

Neither demon or saint

For the heart is a canvas

Its surface is flush

And intent forces out

The hand wielding the brush

Then stir up this boiling caldron of notes

That pulses through veins

No genre can choke

Till rhythm and theme

Cling like flesh to the bone

The music now takes on a life of its own