Mandolin

I can't get the music out of my head.

It began late last night.

A mandolin strumming it's haunting melody.

A far off cry.

Beckoning for someone to respond.

The further I travel, the weaker it becomes.

So I lie motionless in my bed.

Accepting its cruel gift.

Feeling my palms sweat.

The tips of my eye lashes sandy.

Dream a little dream, I can't.

My heart begins to thunder.

My brain swell.

All I can remember of the tune, is my mother.

The Queen with a hundred heads.

Now, defeated.

Headless.

Destined to play that tune.

Never to become herself.

Or any of the personalities she had captured.

So long ago.