Shattered glass, salt sprinkled sand.
Ruins. That is all that remains.
Nothing but bleak sorrow left to inspire.
Nothing but music to express.
Black and white shades adorn a piano untouched by the flames.
Yet how does it manage to capture so many hues?
My fingers rise against their own will,
I might be the pianist, but this is the melody my heart sings.
As soon as the first tune hits the bleak backdrop,
I realize how different it is from anything I have ever heard,
Anything I have ever created.
It inspires life, it inspires growth. The world starts to heal itself with these tunes.
It begins simply, this cacophony my heart is creating.
But with an arresting phrase. So simple, that it is as eloquent as her voice.
She speaks beckoning gently,
As the music unwinds, rising and tensing.
It spirals upwards, the tension growing with each repeat of the phrasing,
Yet at the same time, the music is more expressive.
It is free, wild and feral.
It is me.
The notes which flood out of the piano are surely more than a mundane one can hope to play,
Yet this is anything but mundane.
It is a piano made of dreams and hopes.
It is an orchestra.
The music. Oh the music.
More seductive than poetry,
Far more blinding than light,
Fare more comforting than the darkness.
It is moonlight cast into tunes.
Beautifully contradictory,
Extraordinarily breathtaking.
It seemed impossible to breathe,
Yet that was all I could do.
The music seemed to waft into something tangible.
It demanded a palpable presence.
And like something out of a myth,
She stands over the ruins that she has created.
And the dam bursts. The music changes.
It becomes a hurting tune,
One which is resigned.
A cry of heartache which resounds over my entire dreamscape.
How can pain be so beautiful?
"Why?" Her image asks of me.
"Why can't you end this?"
And I pause.
How can i remove her from myself?
The one who shines with the brilliance of a thousand suns,
Whose smile dims the entire universe.
Her voice like quicksilver,
Her lush curls.
Eyes like pools, lined with kohl.
I would pay any price but these memories to forget about her.
But sadly, my dream self asks me a question and I must oblige.
Maybe she'll know why as well,
For all dreams come from one.
"Do we not dream of dreams?
How can erase my most beautiful dream?
The one which changed me the most?
Stripped me of my armor and left me vulnerable and broken?
Do we not dance on the notes of lost memories?
I am adrift on the sea of trials and tribulations,
Waiting for my ships to take me home.
But till then, till when I reach the promised land,
Your voice shall call out to me,
More treacherous than the sea itself."