deepundergroundpoetry.com
Truth in Sound
So much music in my head,
Where fearful few are want to tread.
Sonnet made violent by piano keys,
Bled out on piano wire and heartstrings.
How fingers dance for dichotomous teeth.
How bow string scratches out melody.
I am a pianist where a pen is my piano,
My throat a poorly tuned violin.
My life would silently ebb and abate.
Now Ive found my key.
My life used to be Shostakovich String Quartet #8.
Now its the Flight of the Bumblebees.
Where fearful few are want to tread.
Sonnet made violent by piano keys,
Bled out on piano wire and heartstrings.
How fingers dance for dichotomous teeth.
How bow string scratches out melody.
I am a pianist where a pen is my piano,
My throat a poorly tuned violin.
My life would silently ebb and abate.
Now Ive found my key.
My life used to be Shostakovich String Quartet #8.
Now its the Flight of the Bumblebees.
Published 30th Sep 2017
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1st Oct 2017 1:42am
8th Jan 2018 2:48am
As a former musician, I completely relate to this poem. Writing is not the only way, nor necessarily the most effective form of expressing oneself (especially because forming the right words can be so difficult). With music, we can hear the very emotion coming out of it, greatly increasing the emotional response in a listener. It's true that someone can figure out how a person is currently feeling just be listening to their music.
Great work!
Great work!
