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This poem was a response to ermiliablog.wordpress.com's Picture it and Write from November 2011. The picture was of a cracked piano. As I looked at that the picture an image of a man clutching the corset of his love couldn't get out of my mind. I wrote of the memory of his love and of his current feeling and the power that a place can have on one's senses. It builds to a crescendo and then to a let down.

A Living Echo

10600587_10204764587811044_3323353174422219428_nby Devin Mitchell Durbin22 Jul 2013

Fingertips dancing along the broken ivory.
Lying neatly playing a sullen melody
Interlaced with a mocking counter-bass.
Tantalizing the secrets from his heart
And laying it bear, like the strings
Peaking innocently from behind
The cracked exoskeleton of the baby grand.

The soft tones counterbalancing the
Agony of lost time, and the beginning of the end.
He moves silently, but with purpose
Across the room, and through the doorway.
It’s twenty years previous, the hall
Brimming with life and sounds.
His siren, playing her song.

Covered in Chantilly lace she was an angel,
Her halo created by the dissonant lights
That danced courageously around her brow.
Her voice echoed a wonderful crooning,
Caressing the crowd with beautiful luxury
Grasping out and holding on tightly
To the moment, not letting the melody free.

He swayed to the beat, joining her soprano
With his cool and blusterous baritone.
Sneaking up like a storm, his voice coupled
With the fragrant vocals emanating from
The magnificent creature training the sounds.
She held the world by her fingertips
Clutching his lead, but he was hers.

Then it disappeared his heart deflates
As the blood rushes back into the reservoir
Leaving behind the corset,
Whose ribbons had clutched at his lover
The women who had held his soul,
She was gone, forgotten, like this piano.
Forever a living echo in his dreams.

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