Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Pianoetforte: 230 Strings

If eyes are the window to the soul
Then the path to my heart is paved in ebony and ivory keys
And you are the only pianist in the room
That’s what I am: Your sweet instrument.
I can’t help if that makes me your toy as well

You can make me sing with just the lightest of touches
And make me scream when you’re at your roughest
But like an instrument I only yearned to be played
And play you did just as if you had taken a sharpie
And drawn your keyboard from my shoulder blade to my ankle

You didn’t mind if that meant that you used me
Didn’t matter because it meant nothing to you just something to pass the time
Nothing mattered to you, you who yearned for nothing
Burned for nothing, you the picture of equanimity

You and your pitch perfect ears
Yet you always made me out of tune
Sharp in your presence and flat in your absence
But you went ahead with your velvet hammer
Beating away at my steel strings
Twisting your tuning wrench around and around
To tighten my wires getting the tension just right
230 strings of love
each string strained by 165 pounds of tension
But that 18 ton tension just made me want you even more
Made me desire for you to run your fingers up and down my keys
Play me over again and again allegro to see how fast your fingers can race
Later we can retardando and waltz in largo and ¾ time
One two three one two three one two three one two three

I deserved it though after all the toil of carrying your emotions
Flowing them through piano to forte with fine crescendos
And soothing them back down in finessed diminuendos
I took the blunt force of your staccatos
Why couldn’t you just loosen up my strings
Even if it means I’ll run a little flat
Play me in minor and let every note legato when my moods are melancholy to help me express my sentiments
Play me in major and play a fanfare to represent my smile
Play me for me don’t play me because you’re bored
That’s all I ever wanted all I ever craved
For you to be my piano man
 - Nicole Cochran (Spring 2011 - Kicking the Cliche: Love Poems)

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