Piano long poem

Piano long poemPhoto by .donna.dark

Room full of candles, casting shadows on the French
doors, in a gust of wind they swing open and the
leaves blow in. In the dead of the night the Piano
plays our song, all by itself. Almost scared to death
I try to go but I’m paralyzed there, not believing what
my ears are hearing. It’s been a year since I lost
you but tonight the ghost of you is here I know ‘cuz
the Piano ain’t been played since they put you in
your grave. Well Lightning flashes and as I relight
the candles there you are right before my eyes, As if
you had never died, you ask me for this dance looking
into my eyes, saying God I’ve missed you but death
can’t kill whatever dies. I put my head on your
shoulder holding you tighter, like trying to hold on
to this moment forever but eventually you slip from
my fingers and disappear in a flash of lightning,
outside the rain I ponder the notion of going insane
but the Piano begins to play all by its’ self again
and I know the ghost of you was as real as the scent
of you still on my skin and in the shadow of
candlelight I dance to the Piano until morning light
In the movement of Kiev!

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Profile photo of Bo Lanier

Bo Lanier

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
Bo Lanier is from Chattanooga, Tennessee and has become an established poet with five books to his credit that were published in Canada. He received several achievement awards in creative writing through poetry.com and has recently published two eBooks and one paperback book through Lulu.com. After a nine year hiatus, Bo returned to publishing his poems with a new outlook and fresh ideas. His other talents include singing and songwriting.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of

The Piano

The Piano prose poem

In front of me are eighty-eight keys, Waiting in anticipation for music to be made. Gently, I place my hands on the ivory, And arpeggios and scales alike flow like a river. My grandmother sits beside me, Beaming like the