The Piano Is Not Firewood (Yet)A Poem by Dana Alsamsam
I'll probably still think about you
On calm Sunday nights Until the piano becomes nothing But firewood to burn. Even then, the flaming vinyl Will pull strings against my lips And hammer my teeth into a smile Through the flames. I grin along with the white keys Because, like me, they know That the cold got colder, And burning is merely a selfless compromise To pull the music staves Away from your long brown hair. The piano takes its last breath of Chopin And a tear escapes the corner of my eye Because just like you and I together, The music is most beautiful Right before it dies. I wonder how many candles You have to light in other people's Bedrooms before you can return And light your own without setting it On fire. I still write poems about you When I walk along our path, but then again, I think I always will.
© 2013 Dana AlsamsamFeatured Review
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StatsAuthorDana AlsamsamChicago, ILAbout"my brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness." i dance, write and play violin. i'm studying english and training in dance in chicago. i like spooky things, red lipstick, caffeine, punk/indi.. more..Writing
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