Poaching the Ivories

scarlet ink bled through the words
I know no music without you.
the letter was clasped
closed by a stamp and laid to rest on the
lid of an asthenic piano. the pianist
commenced his swan song. sustain
 
pedal pressed down, firm to the floor,
unleashing a lingering sound
of a slow, remembered duet. evermore vacant piano bench roared
with melodies. the piano extinguished
silence as the fractured notes deafen.
 
piano strings hum a fragmented song
with hopes to forget the liberated music,
filled with distraught, age-old rage, that
once softened the worldly noise.
raining notedrops wash over empty
music staffs. artistry drips out of the

pianist’s wrinkly, withered,
and calloused hands; tools of golden
glory and grandeur, granting life
provoking thoughts. only leaving
the elder to ponder his loss. tension births frayed,

invaluably jaded strings, depleted
and retrogressing from a lifetime of cornerstone dependence. the coils snap
under the pressure ensuing a final coda.
pianist soaked in the silence. the elder ripped open the lid and

extracted the strings. bound
and tied them together chording
a noose. the piano bench bore
his weight one departing time.
He ends his song.
He ends his life.