The Pianist

The Pianist short poem

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Hands that float across Ivory
Tinkle in such ecstasy
To stir my soul, to soar on high;
And my heart doth reach the sky
And fly on every note that plays.
My emotion frays
And breaks with sound,
Till tears of love are dripping
Bound; around this sacred soul.
His fingers mesmerise with speed;
The hungry soul doth feed,
And wet with emotion now I find
The inner self has awoken my mind
To the sound, so powerful and strong

Oh! Hear the melancholy song!

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Mark Sandford

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I'm married, fifty seven years of age with two grown up sons. I work at the local railway station in customer service. I have always enjoyed writing poetry and short stories but for the past twenty years I have not written anything because the stream had stopped flowing and had all dried up. Lately someone had admired my recent work and opened up the log jam that had been there all that time and let the stream flow again. It is a great feeling and release.
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