It plays its own silent music.
\nI have not touched the keys for days.
\nIt waits for me to come.
\nIt says, play me.
\nI have songs that must be heard.
\nI have stored up rain,
\nlove,
\ntango and percussion.
\nI want someone to dance
\naround my harp.
\nThe room to be filled with voices.
\nNotes to fill the emptiness of the room.
\nThe garden to come inside
\nand touch my strings.<\/p>\n
You know I am alive.
\nYou have heard my heart.
\nYou have listened as I cried
\nand called out my rhapsody.
\nWe have been one many times.
\nMade love together.
\nYour hands have stroked my keys
\nand I sang,
\nsometimes a single note,
\nat midnight,
\nlike an iridescent bell,
\na bat whistling,
\na creak in the stairs.<\/p>\n
The memory of a father
\ngoing up to kiss his children
\nand sing the lullaby
\nthat he heard in me.
\nThe sound of our souls joined,
\nand speaking together
\nin perfect pitch.
\nStill traveling
\nlike a dream pursuing a song
\nsounding on shores
\nwhere no one goes,
\nexcept the wind
\nwhich bring it back to us.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It plays its own silent music. I have not touched the keys for days. It waits for me to come. It says, play me. I…<\/p>\n