How is it that your fingers
to bleed themselves into the keys?
Oh Maestro, will you play it once
again - this time for me?
please name yourself for me!
Is it you, my ever glistening Apollo?
Or you, my one great majesty, known
only by the name of Orpheus?
Hands, oh hands, awakening
High and low and every note that
glistens in between. Quivering more
deeply than a bow upon a string.
Rhythm and yet so much more
Can you feel the heavenly
that enters you within the feel of
every tone? Vibrations of imagination -
utterly impossible, and yet so very real.
Tchaikovsky! Is that you, or merely yet
another hand that plays your tunes?
Sweet and soft and warm, yet ever
reaching deeper into storms of being.
Hauntingly enticing me
to gather it again -
that honeyed dew of days of evermore.
Decisively inquiring, demanding now,
an answer. Where could I ever dwell,
if not with Thee...? Genius of the
ever-growing symphony of life.
Childlike and yet so wise,
world could never bring you to the death
of their demise. Centuries and still, your
spell abides and lives us on, into the
utter beauty all soul. Maelstrom of make
believe - inspiring a unity of love...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .