Composed With Love (Serpentine Verse)

"Life is like a piano:  The white keys represent happiness and the black show sadness.  But as you go through life's journey, remember that the black keys also create music."  ~ Ehssan

I observed a drifting continent.  I

watched him tend to his garden of song, watched

clouds appear then disappear, drifting clouds

relinquished in smiles and tears, relinquished

on unslept pillows of early morn, on

sheets unwrinkled by gentle sleep, those sheets

empty of the notes in his mind, empty

of the song in his heart and empty of

the one who watches in silence and the

one who blossoms in the shadows, the one

swept with passion like ivory keys swept

into a melody that burst into

flame.  A streetlamp flickers outside, its flame

planted over cobblestones and planted

as a star or a silver haze or as

a beacon for iridescent wings, a

spotlight for a lone pianist, spotlight

like moonlight-glistening solitude, like

a lover making love blossom or a

rising sun thinking of you and rising.

 

He collaborates with the night, and he

understands fire and desire, understands

dreaming for the sake of dreaming, dreaming

of the one who will understand whims of

wanting to go, wanting to stay, wanting

more by the minute every day and more

than he will ever be, so much more than

she will ever see through eyes alone.  She

must see him with her heart and soul.  She must

recognize him in her bones, recognize

life worth living with him and through him, life

living in verse, music, and song, living

in silence when things get too loud and in

the solitude of being happy, the

secrets shared that are no longer secrets.

 

Blues and ballads ripen like wine - blues

of oceans in his eyes like bright skies of

hope and promise, life and breath, healing hope

that blossoms into something sacred, that

bleeds into a medley of love, that bleeds

into whole notes and half notes, bleeds into

quarter notes suspended from a quarter

moon spilling into sweet silence.  The moon

resting.    We spend our lives running, resting,

bursting, fading, falling, again bursting

into kaleidoscope colors, into

stained glass masterpieces, the fragments stained

with the seasons, with ash and cinder, with

the pretense of fading into dark.  The

light turning petals into song, soft light

filtered through windows of the soul, filtered

and subdued like a bird in the hand, and

singing of a caged existence - singing.

 

Fingers express a sky of rain.  Fingers

sail over an ivory sea and sail

under lashes like a willow, under

wings that soar inside of me, gentle wings

trebled within a night so still, trebled

within clefs of a songbird’s bill, within

a song composed with love and beauty, a

song that sings of simple duty, a song

in search of a twin soul’s flame burning in

wont of someone to call his name, in wont

of that steady, unwavering flame, of

time impassioned with an urgent need, time

for sweet destiny to intercede, for

mountains to move in search of home, mountains

wherever the eyes can roam, wherever

the moon rises and the heart can see the

song that he composed for me.  Sacred song

sweet as a perfumed rose, sweeter than sweet

kisses ‘pon sleepy eyes that close, kisses

as gentle as a falling feather, as

whispers of words or breath on skin, whispers

composed in the chambers within, composed

notes of A, B, C, D, E, F, G, notes

to last forever inside of me, to

endure beyond the bounds of time, endure

the burden of life’s difficult climb, the

storms to weather, the suffering, the storms

that swell in gypsy spring, a shorebird that

seeks shelter, a resting place, one that seeks

a welcome face, home in the heart of a

belovèd so adored, the belovèd

piano to harpsichord, piano

playing an enchanting refrain, playing

softly subdued like falling rain, softly

falling upon black hair of night, falling

on cobblestones within the streetlight, on

glass panes reflecting the stars and moon, glass

full of wine like a tipsy balloon, full

to the brim and overflowing, toast to

a love forever strong and growing, a

lady whose love never ends, a lady,

a lover, a beautiful friend, and a

star falling into an endless dream, star

flower floating, eyes agleam, a flower

spirit of celestial light, spirit

fallen through clouds this deep, dark night, fallen

into a mahogany case, into

strings and hammers warm embrace, into strings

he was born to be a part of as he

composes with passion and composes

a skein of beautiful surrender, a

sprig of love open and tender, a sprig

of prayer lifted in hopeful hands, of

one who listens and understands, the one

sent as a blessing from up above, sent

a movement of music, breath, and love, a

love forever and ever to be, love

that will not fade with the evening light, that

love of a pianist and poet, love

unswayed, be it better or worse, unswayed

by the breath of a moon grown pale or by

sun or shadow or ancient spell, a sun

gripping the world by its shoulders, gripping

shadows until there are no more shadows.

Love is nothing without someone to love.

I challenged WillWeb to write a Serpentine Verse poem.  We agreed on the theme of A Piano Player and decided we would both post the poems today. Please go and check out his work, it is amazing. 

Here is a link to his poem:

Composed by love (Serpentine Verse) | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

Author's Note

Reviews

[willweb]

You have got to be freaking kidding me...masterpiece is an understatement; this is absolutely incredible. What a powerful and heart gripping epic you have presented here. There are so many lines that really reached out to me that I could spend all day and still not have time to list them all. You are amazing my dear friend and I can see the work, the toil, the thought and the artistic talent that went into creating this wonderous offering of music and love written in a format that I have learned recently, thanks to you, to really appreciate. Now...needless to say I am about to be a bit embarrassed as I post mine. Talk about feeling small. : )

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

I don't know about a masterpiece, but I am exhausted! This is one poem that just did not want to end. Your review made me smile, and I am about to sprint over to read yours. I know it's going to be great. :)

[Nima.Hope]

Wordless, speechless I am, when I see so much beauty, attached to my most favorite item in the world: piano.
I enjoyed this poem on a cloudy morning, when imagination of a piano seems like chariots of light coming to me.
Who is "Ehssan" by the way? We have an Iranian name "Ehsan" which is very popular.

[Soren]

Asked By Willweb to review your poem I find it very moving and the amount of work that must have gone into this work is amazing. It holds a sense of beauty and softness as well as power. Very well done.

[MomzillaNC]

This is amazing. It's almost an epic.

[Ken Simm.]

Quite simply and honestly this is an epic masterpiece. I don't really care about the form or and rigid structure. This flows and hits the notes perfectly.
It is full of superb notes and lines that catch the heart whole. It is full of lines I can only say I wish I had written myself.
A wonderful, wonderful piece of piano music.
I mentioned the pianist and composer Alexis Fford to Will I think you would enjoy his work also looking at this poem I am sure of it.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, Ken. This was an epic exhaustion for me. This was incredibly difficult to write. I am still recovering. :)

[Rania M]

This very nice. I can't imagine how anyone can write so long and well.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you for the visit, Rania.

[W. Barrett Munn]

What a grand effort and so well done. I congratulate you. At the same time, it makes me wonder if there mightn't be a stalker somewhere close by.

Winston

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

LOL! Thank you, Winston. I don't think so. :)

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

well this is positively stupendous.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

We are all enslaved by our muse. Whether in verse, melody, or brush stroke. We seek to touch and hold even for the briefest of moments inspiration. Because within that brevity we create wonderous works of art, much like your alluring poem captures. An excellent inspired write Linda.