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A poem from the point of view of a piano

By Desiree T. YoungPublished 6 months ago 1 min read


Desireé T. Young

To you I’m busted up

Worn down

Past my prime

To her I was a weapon

Her best friend

I saw her

On good days

Difficult days

And every day in between

She was sweet

Gentle, merciful, kind

She was perceptive

Cunning, sharp as an axe

She would not wish ill on you

But if you hurt the one she loves

She will come at you

With a force of nature

This Rose

Sweet to smell, soft to touch

She and me

We’ve had one wild ride

With me she wrote lyrics

Composed symphonies

Of heartache and loss

Triumph and victory

On days when she wanted to quit

We played anthems of pushing through

When she asked what’s the point

We played until those doubts

Were nothing but fallen dust

Together we forged swords of hope

We burned with passion

That could dim a nation

We brought anxiety to its knees

The pain that tried to squelch her

We rose to trample it under foot

When the war raged

We raged against it

And when the war was quiet

Softer melodies of love and innocence

Gracefully danced across my keys

Worn I may be

Old I may sound

But this Rose and I

We set nations free

We brought Heaven to Earth

We brought darkness to its knees

Don’t fret for me

Fret for the ones who heard

But didn’t heed

They are the real tragedy


About the Creator

Desiree T. Young

Writing is how I make sense of the world. It is my retreat, my bridge, and my sword.

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