September 26, 2009
Keys, black and white, slide beneath my fingers
The intertwining of melodies resonates and lingers
Crescendo builds up to its climatic peak
Music so striking that I can’s even speak
The repetitive practices take its toll
As my aching fingers lose their control
And playing only results to a clutter of noise
So loud and frustrating that it only annoys
My mom urges me to end the playing
But I enjoy the effort that I am displaying
One day I’ll be good
I know that I could
But for right now, i'll just play my best

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