Piano

"Sit. And think." - Auguste Rodin

So sit and think
imagine voices, once calm and strong
but for now just calm
forgotten history fading into mechanical choir
the keys are there
turn them, tune them
open the door and play
say what wants to be said through the confident tapping of fingers
and wrists willing to adapt
in the absence of direction, follow the song
derailed train of thought righted by the composition of another
in a moment that is completely yours
confidence crescendos
and little is as satisfying as something new
even off key, the song remains subjective
perfect in the mind of performer
a ballet of fingertips on floors of ebony and ivory
a canvas of eighty-eight colors
art and life confused by their own reflections
but the melody continues
and though the right hand leads the way
there's harmony in the left
a life of violent quiet can't help but enjoy the sound
in the dark, fingers don't mind
in this moment, it's just you and the piano
lingering notes soon overshadowed by deafening silence



I'm in a mood. Sue me. And, no, Rodin said no such thing.