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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2152405-A-Pianist-Myself
Rated: E · Poetry · Music · #2152405
My goals of being a pianist.
A golden facade covers a piano in my field of vision
Diagonally shines from left to right from its sheer precision

A blissful sight it is; A key to a locked gate of excitement
Released whilst it describes itself with the use of refinement.

Fingers gently laid upon the bed of sleeping keys,
Waiting to be awoken from the worn-out dusty weaves.

As I frolic like a child that’s reeling gold from a mine,
Yet I still cannot find for which I’d call such sublime.

As I explored and soared throughout the winds of composition,
Minute nuggets unconcealed as my hands began to fission.

It takes a pinch of sand to release the boredom sessions,
Yet a half-filled hourglass can teach immortal lessons.

Listening to music is a fruitful pleasure to seek
Like miniscule rocks forming the highest mountain peak

While I taste the savory rippling with chords sprinkled across,
I can feel the heart pumping scattered around the posh.

My passion is much peach-flavored at its best!
And to crumble new boundaries from my dome as a quest!

When the light no longer shines, I just sat on a chair
As I hear myself playing and decorating the air
© Copyright 2018 John Fronnto (joshtgdg at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2152405-A-Pianist-Myself