By: Briana Wasil
I was trapped in a tomb when I began this trip
Searching for any sounds that resembled a scream
For help or company I can’t explain which
It was the need to breathe a tune that I couldn’t resist
And then came a breeze that lifted the lid
To which I thought was secured-
I’d just bought an elaborate trick-
That held captive years of sound
Never escaped to fully command
Now released to play the subtle spellbound
That unearthed throughout the land
And it’s presence I heard behind my back
Conducting the symphony
Of a thousand beats
Each with a blank unreadable face
That hypnotized the audience in their seats
I became the pianist in the spotlight
With nameless darkness at my heels
Ripped from the soundboard to expose
The fall, boards shield to withhold their keys
As soon as I surrendered to the shadowed throne
My fingers melted into notes,
Whispers imprisoned my feet,
Music transfused with my heart-bleeding-
The crescendo directed my evanescence
Leading to warn the rebirth of my essence.
So whenever there is a piano playing,
With no visible puppeteer,
Beware of this superstition,
Of how the lure of a piano trip
Can be rearranged into an apparition.