The music is soft
And drips from him like gentle
Rain. The notes quietly
Patter like drops on
Leaves, lulling, luring me
To wander the path.
Beguiled, I follow
Him to a place of quiet.
Tenderly he leads.
A storm explodes and
His hands move with swiftness and
Intense passion. The
Rain is a tempest,
A frenzy of wind, seething
And ripping the leaves.
And then….silence. The
Storm is over.The pianist
Sits, drained, emptied.
He stands and leaves the
Room. I go to touch the keys,
And find them still warm
From his passionate
Touch. On the keys are drops of
Blood, wrenched from his soul.
kanzen sakura 