I tried to make the piano scream last night.
I struck the keys so hard,
that I could feel my fingers bruising more and more,
with each passing measure.
In that moment,
I don’t think I cared if they broke,
because,
I needed my song to be heard.
Ironic thing was,
it wasn’t even “my song”.
It was a cover of “Paint it Black” by The Rolling Stones,
and,
at this particular open mic,
I had decided,
last minute,
that Mick Jagger’s lyrics needed to be heard,
because,
I needed to hear them.
So,
there I am,
pounding the keys,
stirring up a symphony of sound,
when I realized,
the piano didn’t need to scream,
I did.
I hope the writer gets his or her feelings out. The writer realized he or she needs to face and release feelings that have been bottled up. That’s a real step forward.
On Sat, Feb 3, 2018 at 12:39 AM, Blinded by Bukowski wrote:
> Blinded by Bukowski posted: “I tried to make the piano scream last night. > I struck the keys so hard, that I could feel my fingers bruising more and > more, with each passing measure. In that moment, I don’t think I cared if > they broke, because, I needed my song to be heard. Ironic thi” >
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Agreed!
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She screamed and screamed and then sat still
For she had a job to fulfill
What stopped her – was- She
For it surely wasn’t he
So
She faced the “music
And the symphony took a different turn .
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Beautiful.
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