There is a piano carved into every heart,
made with black and white keys,
a place where the freedom of color is lost
and the music is unbearably beautiful,
for every heart fades
in the melody of memory.
Every time a strong and fragile note is struck
we become stuck
in the knowledge we were never supposed to have;
accidentally informed
and let down
to discover that love
is a prisoner of circumstance.
So cast your stones at me
for having the naïveté –
or the courage –
to dream,
to reach for, to scream
for the moment just beyond
the fingertips of my soul
that will make the music run cold
and freeze in my ears,
for I don’t want to hear
every story retold.
Cast your stones at me
and I’ll say that I don’t want to hear,
but I do,
for I need that faint glimpse of your face,
and the piano that is played
in the black and white place
is played by you.