Scarred Hands | Poetry collection | Versification

3 | poetry by the piano

February 22nd, 2023.
7:24 pm.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Long fingers, resting on a piano.
The silence in the room speaks music that we often not hear;
Melodies that make a silent heart speak.
I sit on my chair, awaiting a moment;
When inspiration will strike and make me write;
A song, a letter, a poem or two,
Anything that could express what is true.
My words fail to come onto the paper,
And the ones that do fail to convey emotions.

I have paint on my fingers, dust on my feet;
Tiredness in my eyes, emotions in my heart.
Upon the floor are flowers wild,
And the windows in the room are open wide.

A glass sits on the table, half filled with water,
And on the walls, pictures of the past;
Proud moments captured by a camera,
Showing a person I do not feel like anymore.

Oh words, oh words: do come!
Aesthetics surround me, colors blind me,
But what use is this beauty that I fail to capture, how will I -a year from now- remember?

Music, sweet and slow,
Or silence, thick and lingering.
Scents overwhelming, eyes stinging;
Nothing can move me from my chair,
Can move my still hand, resting on the piano;
Awaiting a moment that never seems to come.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------