Do re mi
the sounds of the only scale she can play
her withered old hands can no longer take the punishment...
as a child her mother taught her to play on this very same piano,
she remembers her first lesson,
chop sticks...
that was long ago,
her mother since passed,
and her in her old age,
no one to teach,
the music is fading...
do re mi,
the sound brings back memories of her nights on Broadway,
oh the sound of a grand piano in that huge auditorium,
the applause of the crowd,
the flowers,
all since passed,
and in her old age,
no one to listen,
the music is dieing...
do re mi,
she looks around at all the pictures,
all her memories,
closes her eyes...
do re mi,
the music dies...
A contest entry
- PIF Weekend Quickie by ChunkyC.
800 points, ended November 24, 2008, 14 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
-
Very interesting piece. The repition of "do re mi" really hammers the feeling home. Good Job.
I also like the image you conveyed of the grand piano in the Broadway concert hall. Very nicely written.
Great write and read. Thanks for entering and good luck!
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