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Major chord,
Ivory keys so soft beneath my icy fingertips.
Minor chord,
Ebony keys so sharp they cut my swollen fingers,
Beautiful, upbeat, rising chord,
Miserable, slow, teary chord,
Play notes soft as children run in the grass,
Strike notes jagged as the coffin is closed.
Light dove notes soar through the open window, spilling out onto the town,
People stop to hear such beauty,
Dark raven notes shatter the old window, seeping like a poison down,
People quicken their pace.
Slam so hard the strings shatter,
Into a billion tiny pieces,
Silver strands into the harsh wind,
Like broken glass,
Like broken wings,
Like my broken heart,
Like my broken soul,
As I slump over on the piano,
And never again make a sound,
But this old piano,
Older than I,
Foot hard on the pedal
I slam hard against the keys,
My only friend moans chord of dismal confusion,
Sustained forever like an ancient photograph,
As the foot of my corpse rests on its tarnished bronze pedal,
The extraordinary chords pierce the musty air, sounding
Eternally.

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