The black piano sits in the living room.
Years ago, I looked at it with a sense of doom.
Having to spend hours sitting on its bench, stroking its keys mindlessly,
The piano would play soundlessly.
A few years later I can hear the same sound.
Now, it feels like I am riding a merry-go-round.
The music makes me feel safe,
Now I do not feel like I am enslaved.
Years ago, I looked at it with a sense of doom.
Having to spend hours sitting on its bench, stroking its keys mindlessly,
The piano would play soundlessly.
A few years later I can hear the same sound.
Now, it feels like I am riding a merry-go-round.
The music makes me feel safe,
Now I do not feel like I am enslaved.
