Antique Pianos

A Poem By Madalyn Clare // 5/10/2019

Key drops
Ivory quivers
A never ending
Hammer gongs
At my vocal
Chords, leaving
Me defenseless
And wondering.

A gong
Again.

An eerie
Wavering of
Sorts,
A shrill and
Inescapable
Note of
Loneliness
But sweetness
Memories of
Laughter
And tears
Of beginners
And winners
And champions
And all that goes in
Between.

A musty
White key
Drops and
My stomach
Flies.
A music box
Feel that is
Tinny, metallic
Old and frail
But wise and
Soulful like
No other new
Instrument can
Recreate

A piano
Has feelings,
You know.
They come forward
With age, with
Neglect because
The piano listens
To all our pain
And joy
And accomplishment
And angst
But we let it say
Nothing for itself
Until we ignore it.

Comments

Ooh, yes, I love this!! Old

Ooh, yes, I love this!! Old pianos have solicited a neat, historic sound. You captured this so well!!

Damaris Ann | Fri, 05/31/2019

I don’t thrive off of chaos: chaos thrives off of me.

Thanks, Damaris!!!!!! Ugh,

Thanks, Damaris!!!!!! Ugh, pianos though...

Madalyn Clare | Sun, 06/09/2019

Introverts unite!
Separately!
From the comfort of your own homes!

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