Piano Man Read Count : 4

Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

He sits with an upright posture

And he loosens his fingers

He tells us an origin story

So that his hands may compute


The story is corny and too familiar

And he realises its wearisomeness

He rushes through it and mocks it

Till our laughter is our interest


He has our attention for a bit

But our sorrows are drenched in wine

We have no sympathy for him and rightly so

This is a place of phony joy


Then he faces forward as our noises end

And his concentration is apparent

His smile dies and for a moment he does too

As his eyes close with the opening chord


We listen for a while before muttering amongst ourselves

But he strikes the keys

As if to say, "I tell my piano the things

I used to tell you"


His emotion becomes infectious

Drying the wine and wetting windows of souls

His story is no longer tiresome

He tells it passionately and truthfully


"He never told her these things," we say,

"How incredibly unfortunate!"

He saddens our atmosphere

With the words she'll never know


The piano man plays his story

With winey fingers drenched in sorrow

Before he stops we realise that the story

Was ours as well

Comments

  • Maurice  Beres

    Maurice Beres

    Extraordinary

    May 01, 2019

  • May 01, 2019

Log Out?

Are you sure you want to log out?