The Pianist

The Pianist

The craftsman’s care and splitting hairs has come:
The ivory touches gleam with new intent,
The blackened bones that break resolve with numb
And seemingly unknowing strength sit pent
And placid, still – so still, until he comes.
The living shadow looms and casts his skin
Across the beast, hands chained by peace undone
As Titans clash against the skeletons.
A thunder roars as fingers tear apart
The silence, striking quick to quell the fear
That such a foe can bring to break the heart –
A weaker man would bow instead of rear
His hands and bring a Hell of gorgeous tone
Cascading crashing over keys of bone