Fingers of a Concert Pianist
By Cynthia Spurr on Jul 18, 2010 in fiction writing
Fingers fly across the keyboard much like a concert pianist. No thought or sound seem to radiate from mind to fingers.
The words flowing softly, quickly like a babbling brook from the tiniest drip searching for the vast open waters. Gathering speed then slowing suddenly only to pick up again round the next bend.
The joy of knowing a world, a body, a mind is created. The soul sings and flies from tree top to tree top, searching for nothing other than the joy of being.
Faster and fast the fingers fly; the indescribable joy bursting at the confinement; it presses harder and harder as a world of words and sounds spread throughout the body, flowing from the end of the fingers, on to the keyboard and out into the world.
Words and images scream into the air bursting in radiating light, breath taking to behold in all it’s pinks and oranges, and yellows.
Colors trickle from the air and a soft rainbow mist gather across the fields, waiting.
A very deep yet interesting poem about authors, as I can relate to it I very much enjoyed reading.
Rich Davies | Sep 9, 2011 | Reply
Damn, I just can’t imagine, how can one make one rhythm wiht one hand and another with the second one.
essays | Dec 8, 2011 | Reply