Perhaps…
it was his
genuine
lack of interest
that kept him from
those ivory notes,
meticulously carved
in a row
beneath his
trembling

fingertips.
eighty-eight delicate slices
surrounding tuned perfection,

formerly
played upon request.

demand.
upon an aged wooden bench
he endured his
predestined life
but
when he caressed the keys,
it was the
only thing
on his mind.
the world melted away
and everyone
disappeared.

Maybe…
it was his gift
to everything within earshot
that went unnoticed,

unappreciated.
He closed his eyes
and placed his hands
upon the
black
and

white.

Could it be…
only the few who

Listened
heard his heart
thump,

race faster
like the rumble
of the low notes
against the high?
could they hear him
tell his story
with the sound
of the smooth legato

and flowing melody?
Constraint.
he saw through his benign eyes.
once this motivated,

inspired
that beautiful music
beginning
with the simple

touch

of a key.