A poem I wrote years ago, that I found today. Yes it doesn't rhyme because I rarely write rhyming poems
Just One Time
I sweep my hand across the rich mahogany texture,
Positively marveling at the smoothness
And the cool air, rising up to meet my touch.
My fingers awkwardly stumble over the array of black and white,
As they seek sounds pleasing to my ears.
I pound out a tune most fitting to the warm weather, yet I frown
And slide my fingers up and down the scales
In search of something more.
My hands come crashing down onto the piano in frustration
and promptly go up again to my brow, wiping away drops of sweat
sweat that was invisible only minutes ago.
I bite my lip and bend over closer to the keys,
As if distance would grant me sudden inspiration.
I impatiently brush my hair aside and let my fingers take over.
They push and merge, resulting in the sound of a song
The song my parents delight in singing.
I will myself to get swept away, but I feel nothing
And I wince as a flat note echoes in the room instead of a sharp.
I raise my head and let my hands fall to my lap in defeat.
I gaze around the living room, looking for nothing in particular.
My fingers begin to creep toward the keys ever so silently
All the while my head is still turned.
I jump, and interested, I watch as my hands
Create a melody unfamiliar to them.
I close my eyes and quietly listen as the perfect harmony
Floats through the air, through my sisters’ surprised ears
And around my swaying body.
The final note trails off into the night, and my hands once again
Fall to my lap, this time in peace.
I smile, and only one thought runs through my mind-
I know that I could never again play it the same way
Or be able to write it down.
Just One Time
I sweep my hand across the rich mahogany texture,
Positively marveling at the smoothness
And the cool air, rising up to meet my touch.
My fingers awkwardly stumble over the array of black and white,
As they seek sounds pleasing to my ears.
I pound out a tune most fitting to the warm weather, yet I frown
And slide my fingers up and down the scales
In search of something more.
My hands come crashing down onto the piano in frustration
and promptly go up again to my brow, wiping away drops of sweat
sweat that was invisible only minutes ago.
I bite my lip and bend over closer to the keys,
As if distance would grant me sudden inspiration.
I impatiently brush my hair aside and let my fingers take over.
They push and merge, resulting in the sound of a song
The song my parents delight in singing.
I will myself to get swept away, but I feel nothing
And I wince as a flat note echoes in the room instead of a sharp.
I raise my head and let my hands fall to my lap in defeat.
I gaze around the living room, looking for nothing in particular.
My fingers begin to creep toward the keys ever so silently
All the while my head is still turned.
I jump, and interested, I watch as my hands
Create a melody unfamiliar to them.
I close my eyes and quietly listen as the perfect harmony
Floats through the air, through my sisters’ surprised ears
And around my swaying body.
The final note trails off into the night, and my hands once again
Fall to my lap, this time in peace.
I smile, and only one thought runs through my mind-
I know that I could never again play it the same way
Or be able to write it down.
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