The Piano

The Piano

I dreamt I played a piano,

I stroked its strings of gold,

My fingers then got numb,

But with my lips I told

The stories of my songs

With notes turned into words

And with a pen I pinched

My voice’s golden cords.

Our kind is made of strings

That vibrate at the sight

Of what inspires us,

And fills us with its light.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s