adventures in dysthymia

Sunday, June 09, 2013

Deconstructed Piano, a poem

Deconstructed Piano

The deconstructed piano plays every song
written. Its strings have been removed.
They coil in their boxes, waiting to strike.

I can sit and count the blacks and the whites
and know they are not enough. Sometimes
and some things will always come.

Or else they were always here. What melody
might I concoct if I knew the reason
a piano is? Would you listen?

Cherry wood leans against the wall, waiting
for itself. It knew every song written,
once. It will sing them to the fire.

Stephen Brooke ©2013

So, proof that I'm still here. I'm practically starting over on this house and property, after having so many things on hold for so long. Keeping busy! And probably not doing much, if any, traveling until it starts to cool down a bit in the fall.

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