My finger glaze the tops of each seemingly tall mountain
They are soft to the touch but far deeper than I choose to recognize
Each stroke must be in an exact measure to ensure that the melody flows
The sounds are perfect in every way
Some I think about on a constant basis and crave to make my hands produce them again
Caution is wise when improvising
It’s impressive and can bring about wonderful new worlds
But strike a note out of the key and some worlds may shatter
Recover.
Safe.
Once again I drag my hand across the endless space of the pages
I still find myself going over old music and perfecting it in my mind
That is until the true melody sits in front of me and plays with my mind
Teasing and taunting until it becomes my new song
That is, until it happens again and the new melody will quickly replace it