The Pianist
The pianist often would rehearse
Despite his talent he had a curse
He couldn’t stay still
He had no free will
His hard work was never seen
And couldn’t live his dream
The others all around
With no talent they were found
He was angered by this fact
That his real talent made no impact
With worn out shoes and a plain shirt
He worked all day on the dirt
His friend stole his music sheet
Passed it as his own, the cheat
The pianist was upset but he didn’t whine
Instead he dressed nice and went to dine
His anger was not big it was tame
He realized then, that he never wanted fame
👁 1💬 4
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (4)
Log in to leave a comment.