The Pianist

The Pianist

Bustling along some distant city street,

In a place where memories were made for me to keep.

I happened upon a place where melodies echoed,

Songs being placed in piano bars and alleys narrowed.

I didn’t know if I should intrude or begin to applaud,

So I stood waiting and listening to music without flaws.

Until the crowd within jumped from their seats,

Shouting bravo, bravo, and asking for repeats.

Then, with a burdened heart, I stepped into their presence,

I saw a lone figure sitting upon a stool who impressed us.

There were those who coveted the pianist’s gift,

And turned their head as they were miffed.

But whether it pleased the crowd or no one,

The pianist played his music until he was done.

For it was his gift, his life, his joy he’d often said,

To give to the world his soul until he was dead.

During one occasion, I spoke to the man,

This pianist who had traveled both near and far land.

Of all that he shared with me I cannot tell,

But it changed my life as his music cast its spell.

But now years later since the music stopped,

I remember the piano bar, the music that was shopped.

The melodies played upon the ribbon of black and white,

Are forever stored away within my soul and out of sight.