The ivory keys creep through my fingertips
like the soles pressing against bustling streets.
Moving their way up and down
while different voices are heard aloud.
When I approach Broadway
I see the swirl of colors:
black and white
I press against the black and white
and hear the melodies and harmonies colliding.
The pitch getting high and low
while whistles for taxis are heard in the distance.
These flowing movements of loud and soft
bring happiness to my ears.
The intense crescendo of dynamics,
the rise of pitch,
the ascending notes all lead up to
the feeling when I am surrounded by the bright lights.
The voices of strangers
and the honks of horns
all come together to create the perfect chord.
The chords I play,
the notes I write,
all come together
to create my rhythm of life.
(Extended metaphor comparing New York City to piano)