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The Piano

By docbooth

Topics: Poetry Source: AllPoetry Original source

An octave calls,Moving in eightsDown a yellow-stained keyboard    “Will nobody play my keys?”Black notesScream semi-tones Whilst the pedals breathe airModulating the noiseFrom soft to a supersonic bang.Scales run off the keyboardWith a soft round plopFor a pianist to pick new notesFor his hidden melody.Quavers and crotchets dance about the music restRacing and dancing to the end of the score.The treble cleff laughsMocking the alto and bassAnd sharps and flats fight for the same notes.The octave calls again,His keyboard bright:    “I’m ready for the fight –      Come play.” Written September 19th, 2001 © on Sep 18 2001 08:27 PM PST   0 • 10

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"An octave calls,Moving in eightsDown a yellow-stained keyboard    “Will nobody play my keys?”Black notesScream semi-tones Whilst the pedals breathe airModulating the noiseFrom soft to a supersonic bang.Scales run off the keyboardWith a soft round plopFor a pianist to pick new notesFor his hidden melody.Quavers and crotchets dance about the music restRacing and dancing to the end of the score.The treble cleff laughsMocking the alto and bassAnd sharps and flats fight for the same notes.The octave calls again,His keyboard bright:    “I’m ready for the fight –      Come play.”..."

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Author:docbooth

Source:AllPoetry

"An octave calls,Moving in eightsDown a yellow-stai..." by docbooth

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