I know not whether it's only me
or others feel what I must say:
My mind is lost to sweet oblivion
when my cello's music begins to play.
All doubt, all worry, all pressure leaves
like a burden lifted from my soul.
The cello's resonance engulfs my senses
and its soothing melody makes me whole.
The strings vibrate beneath my fingers
like delicate ripples on a still pond.
Each note echoes in my empty self;
such is the nature of music's bond.
A reserved strength flows into every bow
like a calm breeze before the coming storm.
Every thread of sound is woven with control,
all harmonies waltzing with perfect form.
Within my ear each tone is clear,
scintillating upon my mind like light.
Strange how contrary is a cello's song,
so low and dark yet true and bright.
Fleeting all peace seems at music's end,
each second like ephemeral sands of time.
Yet when one song concludes another's born;
eternal dreams of serenity infinitely sublime.
-----
Part II
I know not whether it's only me
or others feel what I must say:
My heart recalls the somber past
when my piano's music begins to play.
Smells, sounds, and sights creep on back,
slowly weaving a loom of memory.
Things that were and things that are
merge into the piano's own melody.
The keys dance beneath my hands,
the notes binding me like a spell.
Then I hear a light rustling wind,
and sweet flowers I somehow smell.
I hear a steady nearby creek
and I see green grass and trees.
The sky is clear, the sun is bright,
and a breeze flows through the leaves.
Each note, every song, all music
has a life, a story, a history.
They tell tales and endure time,
living within my piano and me.
What happens now, the piano stops
and the memory drifts away.
There's a silence as the music ends,
only to be summoned another day.
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