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« on: April 23, 2010, 10:19:47 am »
A burning piano,
The keys, aflame, the hammers, white hot
An opera is played
A grand crash
A tender cresendo
A ballet on the right
A battle to the left
Guns are singing
Wives are mourning
An infant cries
A siren blares
A city collapses
In a burning piano
Enveloped in the song, the hands dance
But his fingers are melting
As the pianist burns
The tempo slows
The pitch falls
The solo is over
The time is up
But he plays on,
The piano is alight
But he plays on
Fingers, burned
Mind, scarred
Soul, gone
But still, he plays on,
On a burning piano,
The end is nearing
And he feels it
So he plays piano,
To pass the time,
Until his time has passed
Sorrow plays a symphony
Tragedy rings a cacophony
But the pianist plays joy
On a burning piano.
The fires have died,
The song is not yet complete
But the room has fallen silent,
In a hollow room of charred and gilded oak,
Sits the ashes of a player piano.