It was my pride and joy.
When I picked it up and
My lips kissed the cold metal
I felt instantly at home.
My fingers pressed the three
pearled keys up and down
as if getting re-aquatinted,
always one being a rebel.
The spit valve needed a
new cork for it dripped
like the tears of a loved one,
longing to be held.
And the gold paint was
chipping, revealing an
ugly shade of brown.
But as your hand glided
across the paper,
the blemishes and
imperfections disappeared.
And the world now saw it
through my eyes.
It did not shine or
glitter in the sunlight,
but it hung, proudly
in black and white.
A masterpiece.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 1:37 AM UTC
It was my pride and joy.
When I picked it up and
My lips kissed the cold metal
I felt instantly at home.
My fingers pressed the three
pearled keys up and down
as if getting re-aquatinted,
always one being a rebel.
The spit valve needed a
new cork for it dripped
like the tears of a loved one,
longing to be held.
And the gold paint was
chipping, revealing an
ugly shade of brown.
But as your hand glided
across the paper,
the blemishes and
imperfections disappeared.
And the world now saw it
through my eyes.
It did not shine or
glitter in the sunlight,
but it hung, proudly
in black and white.
A masterpiece.