The Piano of Broken Dreams

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A Poem about what my life would be like without Music, and why music should continue to live on in our lives.

Submitted: April 04, 2011

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Submitted: April 04, 2011

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There is no music
There is no sound
There are no notes;
The chords are rare
The hammers bless no strings
The fingers touch no keys,
there is no time,
No order
The finger tips push no valves
The horn makes no sound
The bell does not echo
And the lips do not create
The throat does not swell,
The ears do not hear
The mouth does not move
And the lungs do not breathe
A single crack,
Although given by the grace of the devil,
Transfers from one sound to another,
Ceasing all sound that should exist
The Dissonant will twang where it should not,
Chords, though scarce, still do not sound,
Despite the tone of love
Hour after hour,
The pain does not slow,
The triplets attempting to give moment,
Attempting to give cause,
They fail
The hammers and strings follow.
They attempt,
They attempt to make a noise,
They do not care what it is;
They must make a noise,
Restless, they seem to be,
Caught in this silent hell
The few sounds that emit are not willing to pleasure anyone’s ear.
Grace is given to us,
By whom, no one can tell,
God, perhaps,
Perhaps not.
To pleasure other’s ears,
It is our goal,
It is why the Piano was created.
This piano of broken dreams will play
With sorrow for the rest of its life
The keys are cracked; the finish was never started,
The tone is deadly, the hammers are broken,
But it is a piano, and it will create music.
And even still, the piano has been rendered unplayable,
It plays on, for it is the food of love.


© Copyright 2020 mariusettu. All rights reserved.

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