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A dark hall, echoes of life. Certainty balanced on the edge of a knife. Huge planes of glass, no sun do they reveal. All comfort does this hallway steal. But resonating out over the remnants of existence, I can hear the soft notes full of resistance. Refusing to succumb to the gloom, A pianist plays, her music fills the room. Every time I must walk this dark-lit hall, I draw strength from the piano’s willful call. Her fingers craft my sanctuary. No longer need I be fearful or weary. Then late one day, in a bad state of mind, Woeful thoughts, I do find. A friend gives advice to me. The pianist’s face, I must see. A the threshold of the hall, I stand. The time to see her face at hand. Then I realize what I don’t hear. Her beautiful music does not reach my ear. Cautiously, I step into the hopeless void. Lights, life, and music it is devoid. I creep to, and at the piano’s bench, I stare. But the pianist was not there. I stare down to the hallway’s end, And without the pianist’s strength to lend, There is no music in which I can confide, And I know not how I will make it to the other side
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Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 12:47 AM UTC
The Missing Pianist
A dark hall, echoes of life. Certainty balanced on the edge of a knife. Huge planes of glass, no sun do they reveal. All comfort does this hallway steal. But resonating out over the remnants of existence, I can hear the soft notes full of resistance. Refusing to succumb to the gloom, A pianist plays, her music fills the room. Every time I must walk this dark-lit hall, I draw strength from the piano’s willful call. Her fingers craft my sanctuary. No longer need I be fearful or weary. Then late one day, in a bad state of mind, Woeful thoughts, I do find. A friend gives advice to me. The pianist’s face, I must see. A the threshold of the hall, I stand. The time to see her face at hand. Then I realize what I don’t hear. Her beautiful music does not reach my ear. Cautiously, I step into the hopeless void. Lights, life, and music it is devoid. I creep to, and at the piano’s bench, I stare. But the pianist was not there. I stare down to the hallway’s end, And without the pianist’s strength to lend, There is no music in which I can confide, And I know not how I will make it to the other side
daniel-corvus-kloc
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Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 12:47 AM UTC
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