My Stepfather’s Piano

There, it leans stoic against the blank wall.
Its timeless sheen mirrors your face as if dust has never laid on it.
Waiting for your fingers to play its quiescent music.
You stare at its rosewood surface, caressing as if it’s your auburn hair.
Admiring its august look as it calmly evokes a striking chord.
Soft fingers on the keyboard, one by one, stroking each sleeping note.

Lonely, how long has it been since its melody was heard?
Its soulful voice and music muted with deafening silence.
Its stream of flowing passion parched by aeons of quietude.
Its waves of rhythmic songs drowned in the depths of sea.
Its light harmony and symphony morphed into deep melancholy.
That time has been forgotten, never returning, never.

Piano’s a masterpiece, waiting for those mellow hands
To shed some light, to bring back its life — its rightful glory.