Slave to that Sound


United States
42° 59' 57.2748" N, 89° 34' 7.0572" W

Each key crafted from ivory
Each separate, yet together they call for the touch of my finger
Each note, all play a different part in making that sweet sound
The keys ripple with each tap like a wave
Play it once, get it wrong, play it again and repeat.
Over and over until my picky ear deems it perfect.

That first time I heard the dance, perfect
That first time I placed my; index, middle, ring, and pinky on the ivory
That first time the jumble of symbols came together, all day on repeat
That first time my wrist ached from the curled form of my finger
Every pound, adding a ripple to make a wave
All the pain is worth that classic sound.

The power it holds-a tsunami of sound
Roaring over all those within- perfect
Each measure-multiplying the wave
Tells the tale of an unfortunate elephant-ivory
One, two, three, four…tapping the keys-finger
Hear it once, must hear it again-repeat.

F, G, B sharp…crap, must try again and repeat
All day long I replay the song, until it hits the intended sound
On the desk, notebook, or wherever I can find I tap, tap, tap with my finger
Hands meet the keys yet again, the feeling is perfect
Again and again, always playing it wrong, in frustration I bang the ivory.
Completely off until it clicks, satisfaction rushes over like a wave.

A little rumble, ripple, or roar, that’s what makes the wave
Such a serene feeling it brings, time to repeat
Keys are the portal into the trance of the ivory
Like fog it engulfs you, just with a slight sound
Whether it be waves, trances, witchcraft or fog…it’s perfect
Yet it lays dormant, only to be activated with my finger

Cities, counties, and countries are controlled by a finger
It forms a cult, flowing together as one like a wave
No one dare leave…the pitches are perfect
When it must come to an end, uproar begins. Only to be silenced by a repeat
One finger, one hand, one person channels this sound
All beginning with the keys crafted from ivory.

Unmatched and perfect, controlled by a finger
Off white ivory starts the wave
All day on repeat, I’m nothing but a slave to that sound.



This poem is a sestina about my love/hate relationship with the piano. Enjoy!




Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741