All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
When I Play
I'm in a still room. Even the shadows on the wall are still.
Everything is silent, as I take a sit on the bench.
Time freezes, It's only me and the keys.
They look at me with beauitful, polished eyes.
Trickling down the layers of my heart, is the sound of a solemn G minor chord.
My fingers gently stroke each key, each sound sings to me with its own set of words.
I close my eyes, and my heart feels a gentle, yet powerful warmth.
My mind is clear of any thoughts; my soul pure of worry.
For one does not simply play with a stressful chain of fears.
I am reborn when I play.
My fingers side-step up the scale dramatically, and
it's like a gust of wind has blown through my hair, it is like
the sun has set ablaze a bright ray of it's firey touch to my skin.
The rest of my body is frozen solid, it is just my hands that sway.
I close my eyes again, and I reminisce in a dream.
I am laying in a field of dewy grass, and I am looking up at the starlit, dark sky;
the stars shine before my very eyes, as bright as I had ever seen them.
The moon smiles at me, and then it begins to rain.
Drops of water fall upon me, cold to the touch.
They fall down my cheeks, and rest at the tips of my eyelashes.
I let them tickle the palms of my hands, and watch them as they
stick to the edges of the grass.
They splash on my head, and slide down the strands of my hair.
They gush between my toes, and slitther down my shoulders.
I can still hear the notes, I can still hear the song. The sound of
each note makes me quiver, for my hands play so passionately, so deeply
and firecely. The flame is even brighter, for I had lit a fire the first time
I ever played.
The room I am in seems to get darker, the walls get narrower.
But I do not stop playing. I play what my heart is feeling, I play every
memory I have left in me. I play a song to the time I first met my best friend,
to the time my first love broke my heart, to the time my cousin
died of cancer, to the time I first picked up a pencil and wrote my first poem.
I drain myself into the keys until I am empty.
There is nothing left inside, but the delight to produce such a meaningful sound.
I feel free, free at last.
I feel lmy spirit soaring into the sky along with the sound of each note.
I am saying goodbye to this world of struggle, this world of hate and hurt, and I am
entering a world of music, of harmony and simple joy.
Suddenly, I am awake. I am still playing, the sound is still strong
and trembling. My face is wet with tears. But my fingers do not ache,
for they are the most powerful and sturdiest of tools I've been given.
I hum softly to the song, and I choke on my tears, for I cannot bring
myself to stop crying.
Piano is my shield, it fades the scars, covers the pain, and
drowns the sorrow. It is my bestfriend. It says what words can't.
I feel aligned with the world at last, like I have rediscovered the goodness
of Earth. I feel untouchable, like I am high above all else.
I am at peace.