The beginning is simple -
three opening notes sound.
You wait -
for what, you're not sure.
Inspiration? A rush of
musical passion?
Your fingers are poised
at the ready,
to dance, to sing, to play
the melody of the heart.
Suddenly it begins,
the beauty of legato,
of happy times and jubilation,
of sweet innocence and love.
But, like always, tide
seem to turn, and sweet
becomes sour,
crashing octaves and
harmonies, a fervor of anger,
of confusion and bereavement.
Expressions fail,
this is not music,
this is life under the bars,
the measures of black and white,
the reading between the
lines to find colors,
colors less... black and white.
A climbing crescendo
inclines to mountains
of hurt and aspirations
you feel will never come true
and then suddenly -
All seems to be quiet.
A pianissimo,
thin but strong,
quiet but loud,
hard to match in its beauty.
For this is the whisper
of natural, organic matter,
of life's creations and
what it must feel like
in the eye of the storm.
You think of things unsteady,
unstable, a pretty lace parasol,
the first flight of a butterfly
with paper-thin wings.
This, this is the journey
through time and space,
represented on a
yellowing page of sheet music,
but it feels much more.
A lifelong legacy,
perhaps the trek across
a new but familiar road.
Maybe the notes that leap
from your fingers and soul
are not truly notes
at all
but rather fragments of
this life of yours.
Maybe somewhere in this
piece there is something to be learned,
a lesson of humanity,
a lesson of love and beauty
and loss weaving together
into some concerto,
you though if you heard one
you heard them all,
but in each of these songs
you uncover just a little something
more, a part of yourself that may have been hiding.
So when all else fails,
you turn to music as a
guiding light across this
vast space that seems so cold.
But perhaps, we can all find
the sweetest melodies,
an allegrissimo of soft brilliance,
amidst the isolation
if only we dare to listen.
YOU ARE READING
Bits and Pieces
PoetryBits and pieces of life, incorporated into a mess of free-verse poetry.