“THE PIE EYED MADMAN”
BY SHEB SCHEBELLA
The pie eyed madman strums his harp slowly and the presence of angels fills his ears; however his callused fingers and cracked nails play out a different tale an old wood worker from a forgotten time. His reflection upon the midnight stained window hides his crow’s feet but, not his leather face and grey grizzled hair that announces his age far beyond his years but, that music, yes that music it can’t be dated.
The mad man’s movements against the strings are always new, always fresh always offering something that can’t be contested. It was many seasons ago and a half of bottle red when the pie eyed mad man fashioned the harp from mahogany and purple heart, the Peltogyne what a wonderful tree but, what a more beautiful harp in deed. A brandy dipped cigar burns a long ash and fills the room with a bouquet of another man’s taste but, in truth that man lays beneath an oak planked floor in the music room where he will be forever more.
The pie eyed madman breaks for an interlude and fills his glass to the rim so to reflect on his sin. He begins to smile like a child and then inhales the aroma of the room. It is not death that he is reminded of but, a time when he believed he was blessed, a time when he use to watch his lover twirl upon the oak planked floor but that unlike wood he can’t restore.
The pie eyed madman strums his harp slowly…
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