Tuesday, September 25, 2007

the pianist

This is the building I call home
yet no bed occupies the space
I see no pictures of babies or siblings or pets
there's no trace of me here...

In this great wide expanse of earth and learning and people
I feel lost
I feel squashed
I am small

Yet in this single structure I am
alive
whole
....calm

A spirit of greatness is ever present
and I feel it penetrate my soul
as I play

I am a musician, an artist, a magician

the notes sing (words you and I don't know)
the sound is rich
the plink plink of the notes heals my pain
and I

......find peace

3 comments:

boogie said...

I'm glad you found a place you can go to to find peace...those are good places.

Іванченко said...

carbon copy cold rooms made of concrete
sit there, quietly, predicting, in your seat
nothing to loose, nothing you can't gain
from the way you deal with the love and pain
keeping the satisfaction on the level of foundation
build your life body from shoes up
from the things you don't want to give up
and from everything you've discovered is tough
only one way to learn and its difficult
hold the presence tight and survive the crucible
speak it all, as though somebody inspired your mandible.

~Musicans make art. the most beautiful form of art. Aural Art.

Love,
Digress.

Sam Swa said...

I'm not sure what a muse is, but if it's what i think it is, then before i right i make myself believe i know what love is, so i dont feel as scared. Your piece is beautiful, and i want to talk to some time, its been to long

yEStERYEar