Play It Again

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The nice thing about poems is that there’s no wrong or right way to write one You just do. Meanwhile, I wrote this poem almost as though a sensation called “automatic writing” came over me.

What’s this one about? Hmmm. How do I tell you this…it’s pretty speculative. Wishful, I daresay. And the piano can be a metaphor, I realized…

*****

I saw you in the piano room today

I saw,

I saw,

How your concerto was only child’s play

The keys mourned the end of a summer breeze

Such longing! I thought the night-stilled air would freeze

Meanwhile you were lost in a soliloquy

I just lay there and felt your eternal sigh

*

I’d be the gem to your forte

I wish,

I wish,

In those same little notes that swept my breath away

You said the time, while it lasted, was a bliss

What, no parting kiss?

I’ll hear of you again, if the future’d entail

For Anthony Greninger lingers on in your trail…

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