A lament for my lost instrument

In mind and out

It’s a pleasing thing to hear my whispers
turned into roars by the ocean,
timid sounds that roll around
seashell necklaces of the mermaids
I beg to magnify the crescendo of the waves
and I crave
the thunderous noise of my fingers
like a pianoforte in the seafoam,
or a screaming storm in a teacup
an effortless whip of peaks –
Instead I join the mournful chorus of the mermaids
and we cry, united in our phantom pains of ghostly limbs
and my lost instrument

Sometimes it’s a pleasing thing
to hear whispers turned into roars.


I used to play the piano. i miss it….

The heart asks pleasure first by Michael Nyman:





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