About as humble as they do become
Breath held for manic ransom, sizeably freed and left to a thousand-and-one gazed interpretations when least suspected
He sits rather silently atop that grand piano
and backs himself subtly away from these magnificent warlords who have managed to swarm the entirety of his veteran being – soon as he accepts the push and all-encompassing prep from desperately within
Then the genius began to terrifically untangle itself, each preciously pressed black and white key lending itself to multi-coloured persuasion set to ensconce a whole oak-encrusted room
Swimming in – ’til about to breathe – softly orchestrated imagination

*A poem detailing the writer’s own imaginings when it comes to a Grand Master piano player’s need to utterly perfect his piano playing. The old, albeit beautifully historicalised building seems to have been waiting for his rather subtle at first attempt to settle his inner demons – namely an unstoppable necessity to chronically criticise his own work however precise it may be. What does indeed turn out to be a perfect recital in the eyes of the wide and, finally, incredibly rapturous audience doesn’t exactly leave the same impression upon him. He’s always looking, desperately longing, to set himself otherworldly apart and has yet to meet that target within himself. When the meaning of the word ‘perfection’ leaves him out of its equation on a personal level entirely but, nonetheless, will continue to inspire him all of the more for it.

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