Bear this in mind… I don’t write poetry. But there is something very poetic in this photo, and that something—whatever it is—inspired me this week.
The dead of ivory gone
88 keys stripped bare
The white is their treasure
Not the music that soars emotion among heights and depths
Not the sonorous miracle peculiar to this ambitious creation
Not the woodwork that curves beautifully, gracefully strong
They want white whom can only lay lifeless, void of sound or joy on their own.
Those cold and finite thieves steal away the dead,
And leave the bones of the miraculous to grow new life.