NaPoWriMo #19 Light Bulb Moments at a Piano

Days of practice turn into weeks,
the melody slowly finding its way
to my fingers. The tempo seeks
a victory over fingers that stray,

stumbling over scattered ornaments.
The keys stubbornly play staccato;
phrases battle with their accents;
slurs creep up, demanding legato.

The notes taunt me from their page
and I repeat, just for good measure.
Fortissimo conspires with my rage;
yet every day I practice I treasure

and await the moment when music grants my soul admittance.
Now, fingers flying, I become my piano's humbled audience.