World of Hearing
There's something about the piano.
Simple lyric-less expression into keys
Notes like post-its everywhere I turn my face
surrounding me
reminding me of a simple world,
Simplicity returning to a tired mind
Falling into lullabies...
There's something about the piano.
Sometimes
Eerie weary tired sounds
Reverberating once and twice and again
Beckon--
Singing invitations
to slip inside a world
where echoes softly play
and cover wounded hearts
A place where tears are old clothes
Worn and worn into wasted rags
But nobody cares because
The norm is emotional.
The regular passerby wave
in somber contemplation
lost in secret melodies,
Dreams running free,
Effortless imaginations.
Carried here in my willing heart
I am moved
This resting place holds me
Gentle like a hammock swaying,
back and forth,
Swaying this body
moving me,
slowing my breath into trance-existence
and singing the eyelids shut,
Yes, there's
something about the piano.
Something about the swift motion on ivory
sweeping melodies into my consciousness
Like I never had a choice
Those fingers, graceful and swift,
somehow so ignorant
Perhaps intentionally oblivious to
open hearts, real words, and Lyric.
The secret whispers of
Thoughtful silence in a mind
that weeps another tragedy,
Are heavy ringing for the world,
Yet shut in a closed room.
After
Dancing softer sounds
slow and come to an end
Honey tasting rhythms,
Haunting thousands of my years,
Bow and retire
I emerge.
Sweet bliss is stolen
And reality reminds me,
Consequence
hits me like a frontal car collision.
Fluidity turns blunt like truth
to innocent ignorance
and the careless swimming of my thoughts
ceases to yield a pleasant wonder.
In honest sadness I go
And when I do
I want to take him with me
Where haunting never dares
To weigh down the hopeful heart
And eternity
Sweeps hopeful dreamers off their feet
And into so much more than sleep,
Sweet moments of new life
Reality sweeter, warmer, better than a hot mug
Bringing comfort
On the wings of notes
sung in creativity with a purpose
Knowing that no matter the task,
completed here now whenever,
Doing doing doing becomes
rest in written freedom,
giving reasons to run and
A sweet newness awaits.
it will beget wisdom
in the refining of learning
because theorizing is dead
locked away with the keys
played forever and ever
And
in the
arms of peace and
melodic enlightenment
we listen hear and know
it is finished.
