With turn of brass
and fall of old paint
The ache to peek
becomes too great
Dread holds my feet
but my eyes roam free
A mute invite
travels the unlit studio
Only a reflective Steinway
stencils the darkness
I breach the holy tomb
with subtle tip and fragile toe
Dare I raise the lid?
Let heavy arm fall
Allow roaming fingers
to tear at musical history
Should I strike an unauthorised note
seek one holy sharp ping?
Will the mote heavy air
reward my intrusive grope?
Can my ears decipher
the echo of Menuhin, Miller and Lennon?
The piano remains closed
my respect for past recordings too great
© Copyright 2016 Philip H20s. All rights reserved.
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