Day 256: Keystrokes Black & White

Turns out the acoustic of that room was perfect, it was neither too loud or soft. Neither too faded or alive but just alive enough to feel your performance as real as ever. As I sat there on the corner listening to sheet music being played, I kept wondering about the thought of composing a writing in the length of a single piece. These are not about gauging how quickly you could write but rather about how the keystrokes, these black and white pieces that come together to create something meaningful are remembered. As the hammer struck the cords I could hear the resonance felt somewhere on the handles of the chair I laid myself on, the night was being written in music that was too young.

Keystrokes Black & White
Close your eyes for a while, imagine nothing but music on pages

That fills the room and somehow remains understated through ages

The rough edges of a piece that are played and unplayed

And the resonance of the piano keys on your hands, somehow they stayed

You will pat down and start again from scratch, as though new every time

For this music that fills the rooms, it escapes, as neither yours nor mine

Yet for that which stays only for a moment, as it rises and falls
It makes the rooms sway as it slowly bounces off these walls

You will write your own mistakes and make right the wrong
You will play me the best of pieces yet, even if an incomplete song
Till the night escapes purpose and the reasons; why much is to be done
The songs are played again and again & yet none of them last as long

The halls outside, I hear the footsteps stop and speed away
I have seen the temporary nature of things that somehow refuse to stay
I will find it somewhere to speak, without saying even a single word
We are magicians, we are storytellers as the piano player quietly heard

Close your eyes just this once, play as the last piece crumbles away
& a smile that for now, in the echoes they manage to stay.