there was a time
I’d pound those keys
morning noon and night
making music in my sleep
hoping one day they’d be
translated into poetry
they kept telling me
people love you
and of course
I believed them
like morning dew
believes in rising sun
piano in bay window
hasn’t been played
since god knows when
sparrows still perching
on old crabapple
remembering
october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
their sound supersedes the
clamor and the simmering pot
not quite boiling
not quite understood
the floors mean nothing
they’ve since been replaced
replaced but not restored
never to be the same
appearing out of nowhere
like a silver moon in disguise
the music filters through
making my world come to life
the violin and the piano
still echo in these walls
comforting my sorrow
and giving me repose
september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
