A Painting and a Poem

My friend Jim shared this painting his wife did of him (he's an avid musician). It in spired my poetic juices to flow, so I wrote the following poem based on the painting (in no way does my poem reflect Jim).

Alone in the dungeon he patiently sits,

Quietly awaiting his master’s departure

The master leaves and to the keyboard he flees,

His fingers poised just above the keys

The nimble flanges race along silently

Never touching the ebony or ivory

But the sound in his mind is music instead

While his head leans tilted toward master’s bed

A cold wind blows the shutters

He jumps with a start

For a moment the keys sing out

Not music but a terrible shout

“A lash for he who is playing those keys!”

Comes bellowing from the master’s chamber

Quickly he runs to the dungeon hoping to miss the whip

But alas the master arrives with fury and his beats they never skip

On his stomach he lies with his back red and raw

But anger nor pity is inside his head

For the music he plays on the keys of his pillow

Take away the sting from the switch of that willow

Jason