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Poem

There’s a story I heard of a famous lost chord,
although why it was lost and just who did the losing,
true or not, perhaps no one can tell,
but piano pursuit served me well as a child
as I followed my dream of harmonic reward.

One lost chord by itself could bring fame to my door,
no real talent required, just let luck do the choosing.
Crystal tones could my future foretell,
and might somehow bring fortune with demons beguiled,
find this chord and I’m famous, a world troubadour.

What I learned from this I must now share from the heart:
I was three when I found Ardean’s stash in mom’s closet,
older classical records, and more.
There was Love For Three Oranges, Suite Scheherazade,
and the Firebird Ballet blew my whole world apart.

Through his gift I discovered that music is dance,
an emotional language that lives as composite,
an intelligence melting your core
with a soul that can play your heart’s strings like a God!
How I tremble to think this could be happenstance!
 
Still a chord unremembered might be anything,
I think I see now where my poem is going:
A lost chord’s like a glass without wine,
precious stone that has yet to be set in a band.
Well, a chord in a symphony really can sing.

It is only in context the best chords ring true
with their blessings of harmony wisely bestowing
both a peace and a rapture divine,
as a gem is at home on a receptive hand.
Ardean fell in the forest, God heard, I did too!



Brian Johnston
May 2, 2015

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