My fingers
Are they really mine?
Disembodied
Not as strong
Or limber
As they were
Well-worn sheet music
As familiar
As my daily route
And yet
The surroundings
Have changed
I start and stop
Play
Waiting for neurons
To remember
To click
For muscle memory
To kick ass
The fingers reach
And stroke keys
Like bones
Familiar
Searching for the feel
To slip back
I am the emotion
Behind the touch
The crescendo
The fortissimo
The accent
The slow
Descent
To pianissimo
Make them wait
Holding breath
For the next
Note
The written tempo
Means nothing
Heart and flow
Released
Until liquid
Knowing
Returns
I am
The soul
Of the music
And I will play it
To the end
2 Comments
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I love to play the piano when the afternoon sun is coming in the windows and I am home alone. Getting started is the hard part and you have done that.
You are music!!! This has to be one of my favorite poems you’ve written so far.
Wouldn’t ya know it’s all about the music! Heeehehehee!
God bless ya and have a most awesome kinda day sweetie!!! :o)