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Old Grand

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The piano aches in his old age.
Arthritis has long since kicked in,
and his brown skin is spotty and faded.
They placed him in a resting home
to deteriorate among the others.
"Why do they forget about me?" he wonders.
"Why won't they use me to make beautiful music?"
The other inhabitants comfort him,
but they all know the truth.
He is from a time long forgotten.



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FutureWorldRuler This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Apr. 6, 2013 at 8:44 pm
I liked how you described old age using a piano as a metaphor. Very creative! 
 
tuckertwin12 said...
Apr. 5, 2013 at 11:44 pm
Hi! That was beautiful! I REALLY loved it! I've played piano for six years, and I understand and have heard how beautiful a piano can sound. I think people don't know how beautiful music can sound that's not pop blaring from the radio. If more people could know the feeling of accomplishment and happiness you get when playing a beautiful piece with your own two hands, the world would be a different place. It's sort of become a lost art, forgotten, but everyone loves to hear when i... (more »)
 
tuckertwin12 said...
Apr. 5, 2013 at 12:06 am
Wow. That's all I can say. I REALLY loved it! I've played piano for many years and I interpret this poem as people investing their time into playing beautiful music instead of listening to that crap on the radio is a lost art, forgotten. People don't know what it's like to make something beautiful without only your hands. It's sad but true. I think your poem captured this in a very interesting and different yet intriguing way. Very good! I loved it!
 
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