Sonata

I wrote this piece as I neared the end of my time with in the IGNITE! Spoken Word Mentorships, where I worked with a bunch of amazing poets, including my mentor, Brendan McLeod for four months.  This piece is actually written and performed to a piece of music by an amazing pianist (Irene Chou).  She played it backwards.  I can't even play it front... wards.  Impressive.

Enjoy! 

All of the best musicians have it inside of them.


Beethoven was deaf.
It’s documented that at the age of twenty the man sawed the legs off of his own piano,
So he could feel the vibrations through the floor.
He wrote
His entire ninth symphony this way.


I have found nothing more sorrowful
Than the world ripping music from a man
Who has sewn it into himself so tightly?
A man who believes that if he can just keep his fingers moving
He can hold onto himself
A little longer.


Children,
You are pianos.
There are chipped keys in all our toes,
If you ever wonder why we sound so off-key, every time we speak.
In all of us,
Our footsteps started out as pristine ivory.
Our legs were made of steel strings.
Some of us-
Let our hammerhead experiences hit ‘em too hard.
If you ever wonder why we go shakey in the knees so quick-
We’re still trying to be arrangements-
Letting everyone else conduct us.
Some of us-
Went about being instruments all wrong.
We’ve been letting people play us.
We only ever wanted to be masterpieces.
Got too caught up in the melody of things to realize we already were.
Sometimes
An organ is most beautiful in its silence.


Children,
Don’t ever lose your music.
There are so many hymns we could have carved into our bones.
There are so many anthems we could have created.
We have grown so tone-deaf.
We’re always sounding like the tune-up
Before the treasure.
We’re always stumbling with our sustaining pedals
When we really wanted to dance with the ones that soften everything around us.


Children,
Don’t ever lose your music.
You are all composers.
You are all writing a sonata of a generation.
These days,
Everything is far too silent.
Pianos,
Staccato the shit out of your entrance.
Make it clear,
You are a messiah of an orchestra,
You are the savior of our songs.


Children,
Just keep your fingers moving.
Maybe you can hold onto yourselves a little while longer than we did.
Fingers raw, ears popped.
Tried to out-fiddle the devil,
But we only ever out-played ourselves.