Ianaldo Prescott Pourchot
2: 47 Am - Poem by Ianaldo Prescott Pourchot
I… I… am alone here
What is this?
White* Black* White Black*
Oh I see, I get it now,
I finally know
I fell asleep by the piano!
Ha! The second time this month!
And I can still hear the softness
The soft melody I was playing
Before the sand filled my eyes,
I was playing Beethoven Sonatina No.1
And next thing I knew, I was out!
I was sitting in a street in Cologne
I was in Ludwig's presence!
Breathing in his musical essence
Then after a nice weary session,
I lost every dropp of depression
And gained every note of confusion
Only to wake up with more confusion
That’s what I get for studying Beethoven.
May his music brighten my skies
And further open my eyes.
I think I will continue practicing
Until the placid sunrise
Comments about 2: 47 Am by Ianaldo Prescott Pourchot
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You