I was looking through my old word documents, and I found this poem that I wrote in eleventh grade. It’s weird to think how much can change in such a short period of time. Now, when I see my bassoon from across the way, I smile to myself and my heart fills with joy. I’ve even named it! I call my bassoon “Fabio”, because like its namesake, my Bassoon oozes of strength and masculinity.
But I digress.
The Devil’s instrument
There you stand, across the room,
playing with my nerves.
Your gleaming coat of rich brown oak,
far more than you deserve.
Here I sit upon my bed,
hands shaking and eyes wide
Wondering how I- so weak!
could tame the beast inside.
Woe to those who choose my course,
sorrow will fill their lives!
For once your hands grasp a bassoon,
it cuts you like a knife.
“Don’t worry!” they said “It’s really quite simple
to master the bassoon.
The rewards are amazing, and you won’t regret it.
Come quick! Not a moment to lose.”
Lies! Lies! T’was all but lies!
But my young self knew nothing of this.
And now I am an empty shell,
for my “reward” was a dementor’s kiss.
Try as you may, try as you might
to play sweet melodies,
pain will be the outcome, friend!
So please, do learn from me.