The Pianist



I see him sit upon the dark black chair,
His nimble fingers dance across the keys,
The soft warm rays of sun go through his hair,
His dark brown eyes scan all the notes with ease.
He leans toward the keys and takes a breath;
A melody comes forth as he begins.
He plays it delicately step by step,
I feel my heart stop beating from within.
The song is sweet and sad; a yearning song.
His feet work pedals, slow with surety.
His gentle hands are graceful but still strong,
His songs have both allure and purity.
He lifts his head and looks at me awhile;
I freeze, I melt, forget to breathe, and smile.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741