The Piano

A rather melancholic take on the instrument known as the piano.

A note
rings out,
loud and clear,
above the silence
of the cold, unfeeling day.
Gradually,
the despondent peal fades.
Hollow impassivity returns.
The empty silence resumes.
No hearts beat.
No lungs breathe.
No ears heed.
The piano
strikes another key,
despairingly;
no sound is returned.
The stillness recapitulates.
The piano,
harsh and grating,
weights the keys,
burdens the pedal,
rents the sheet;
it cries to the emptiness.
The void responds
with languid muteness,
for no one hears 

the piano.

Author's Note

Please leave your thoughts. I'll take anything.

Reviews

[The White Wolf]

Melancholy it is but the piano is nothing but. It is the only instrument, other than I would say an electric guitar, that you can play angry and still produce something that is beautiful. You words do your instrument of choice justice. Well done.