The Pianist

October 21, 2011
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Many years it has been since she had lifted the stand of her solemn black piano.
The aged ebony and ivory were once part of her beloved soprano.
Only the surfaces where she touched with her musical fingertips were born anew from dust.
But the neglected and elderly piano was slowly dying of corrosion and rust.
Cobwebs which locked away the memories crowned the instrument,
Like the ones that adorn the coffins of the magnificent.
She played a chord and the keys wheezed.
Out of tune, like the now lonely heart of hers left unseized.
The woman tried to play her favorite song,
And failed, not knowing what went wrong.
She forgot his voice, the piano keys, and the key to her own heart.
From everything blissful, it seemed she must depart.
Head down sleepily, for hours and hours she played, longing,
In order to feel a sense of belonging.
Eventually, with perfection she hit every inharmonic key.
Unnecessary memories lost, immersed within her own sea.
Shattered memories reflected the gray, dusty, abandoned room.
Only through the big closed window did the twilight sun strike the gloom.
Time passed and the pianist never left the place for the world of daylight.
Sometimes, one may hear the beautiful sound of tinkling keys played into the deep night.
Whenever the pianist played, the moon and stars shined.
And never again was the desolate piano left behind.
Burning brightly like the sun,
The pianist and piano were now one.

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