his song ends and engraved
scarlet ink into the parchment.
I know no music without you,
bled through each crevice. he clasped
it closed by a stamp and laid it to rest on the lid of an asthenic piano. the pianist
commenced his swan song. sustain
pedal pressed down, firm to the floor,
unleashing a lingering sound
of a slow, remembered duet. evermore
vacant piano bench roared
with melodies. the piano extinguished
silence as the fractured notes deafened.
piano strings hum a fragmented song
with hopes to forget the liberated music,
filled with distraught, age-old rage that
once softened the worldly noise.
raining notedrops wash over a score
of a processional song. artistry drips out
of the pianist’s wrinkly, withered,
and calloused hands. tools of golden
glory and grandeur grant life-provoking
thoughts. only leaving
the elder to ponder his loss.
tension births frayed, prized—
jaded strings,
retrogressing from the era of
cornerstone dependence.
the coils snap
under pressure, ensuing in a final coda.
the pianist soaked in the silence. the elder
ripped open the lid and
extracted the strings. bound
and tied them together, chording
a noose. the piano bench bore
his weight one departing time.
His song ends.