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The Piano Lesson

written by: TM DiSarro

@tmdisarro

 

Sleeping on the sofa with a pillow full of clouds, as sound is gently rising up from somewhere in my mind, in the realm of almost waking, caught inside a dream, someplace that I used to know in vague familiarity.

Notes so clear float by and softly cover me in kisses, numb my senses, fill my soul with peace and soft caresses, can't quite put my finger on it somewhere in the mystery, effervescent music in the key of my contentment.

Ballerina dancing in a window passing by, trepidation turning on her toes into to the sun, beams of light are flashing through as prism panes imploding, wind blown curtains shift and create shadows on the ceiling.

Sounds like night birds sweet and sadly singing to the dawn, soothing like the whisper of the wind upon my skin, calming like the hands of one who'll love you till forever, comfort in the form of lovely words from an old friend.

Life in mad degrees is played out fast in restless seconds, passion in the evenings stretching deep into the hours, days go by and memories slowly turning into haunting's, years to weigh the heartbreak you remember by the pound.

Sweetly as you call to me and stir my slumbered conscience, with the gentle melody of beauty that your playing, floating in my mind like tiny particles of lightning, gathered in a cup of tea and poured into my ears.

Clearly I can see your fingers move across the keyboard, blind determination concentrating on the structure, this is how the student learns to play a decrescendo, this is where the lesson takes a life upon its own.

By your side my admiration plays to your attraction, patiently you take my hand and show me where to follow, something calls me over to an open bedroom window, looking to the blue sky till I can't hear what you're saying.

Turning back around to where I thought that you were seated, the room is full fragrance mixed with still anticipation, the music plays off somewhere in the innocence of distance, waking up to no one there it quickly fades away.

 

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
From the collection: THOMAS CADENCE

TM DiSarro

TM DiSarro

I do not consider myself a writer but I love to write. Neither a poet but I love poetry. I steal bits and pieces of time to scratch out ideas on note books, laptops and cell phones. I live and work in Florida fabricating custom canvas and other fabric products and sometimes costumes.
TM
TM DiSarro

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