The Piano Poem by Zander William Pearson

As my fingers rest on the keys,
Preparing for the song,
I close my eyes.

I visualize the song,
Hearing the melody in my mind,
And I close off my mind.

I simply stop thinking,
And let the music, my soul, and my fingers,
Do all the work.

My fingers begin the journey,
Flying through the keys,
Like cheetas.

The music fills me,
And I drift off,
Into the beautiful harmony.

My fingers soften,
Into an Andante pianissimo.
And a ralentando takes into affect.

As a decresendo takes me,
To a near-impossible pianississimo,
I pause, and jump into fortissimo.

The pace quickens to Presto,
With a cresendo livening up the feeling,
Marcatos are suddenly followed by rests.

Without warning, my fingers fly into 64th notes,
And I keep it up, even in cut-time.
The audience is awed, but I haven't even breaked a sweat.

Finally, the song ends with an arpeggio,
Growing louder in the room and in the soul,
Until one, quite Minor chord ends the song.

For the first time in,
-What,5 min., I can't even tell-
I open my eyes.

The vibrations are still heard,
within the room,
and the audience erupts with clapping.

I bow and my smile beams,
but it is not the attention that gets to me.
It is the music.

The melodies and chords,
They are my life.
Music is in my soul.

Music is my soul.