The Sound of Silence

It sits there, in the same corner it has for years.
Its brown wooden exterior conceals every hammer and string which creates each sound.
Each key has hummed a million notes, each pedal held a thousand bars.
Even if the golden brown varnish has faded,
Its colour gleams and distances from any other in the daylight.
Some may see it as a construction of lumber,
But its presence allows much more than plain wood.
Its echoing sound graces each corner of the room,
Although it’s silence draws anyone in to play its harmonious keys.
It’s mine, not through ownership, but through bond.
This object has a connection, a relationship.
The secret of this object only those know who use it.
It’s irreplaceable, the only one of its kind.