Sonnet to a Pianist's Flight
Her hands above the keys end not their flight
until the music held within does flow
through fingers small that know more grace than I,
despite my dancing heart, will ever show.
To see even her car scatters my being
and when she speaks my ears must fight to climb
a single word that others say to me.
Her laugh, though soft, can pierce me through each time.
I bleed with heart in hand before her eyes
with hope, so pale, that this her heart might move
as once before it did, yet no replies
does she reveal with looks she keeps aloof.
Am I but an imposter strange to see
to claim a love if she does not claim me?
-- By John Rieping
until the music held within does flow
through fingers small that know more grace than I,
despite my dancing heart, will ever show.
To see even her car scatters my being
and when she speaks my ears must fight to climb
a single word that others say to me.
Her laugh, though soft, can pierce me through each time.
I bleed with heart in hand before her eyes
with hope, so pale, that this her heart might move
as once before it did, yet no replies
does she reveal with looks she keeps aloof.
Am I but an imposter strange to see
to claim a love if she does not claim me?
-- By John Rieping
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