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Literature Text
I was never as good as you
at making memories from strings and ivory.
Such talent you had, for drawing forth music
that would be as lilting -
or as woeful -
as you needed it to be.
It doesn't stop me now, though;
it may be my fingers upon the keys,
but it's your soul within the sounds.
You would sit here for hours
almost every day, lost in your thoughts.
And now, despite your portrait on the walls
and the ring still set around my finger,
nothing pushes me
to get lost in thoughts of you
the way idly pressing on this piano does.
at making memories from strings and ivory.
Such talent you had, for drawing forth music
that would be as lilting -
or as woeful -
as you needed it to be.
It doesn't stop me now, though;
it may be my fingers upon the keys,
but it's your soul within the sounds.
You would sit here for hours
almost every day, lost in your thoughts.
And now, despite your portrait on the walls
and the ring still set around my finger,
nothing pushes me
to get lost in thoughts of you
the way idly pressing on this piano does.
© 2013 - 2024 amerevengeance
Comments3
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Beautifully written - you can really get a sense of memories evoked here. 