PRISONER OF TIME 1 © 2007

Seat me in front of a piano,

Blindfold me so I won’t cry,

Let the keys, like ancient souls,

Groan out at last what in me

Has hidden, in the depths of being.

Each note is a stifled scream,

Each chord, a forgotten lament,

And in this life’s deceit I have lived,

I find the capacity to create,

Even if late, even if painful.

Fingers touch the ivory as if seeking,

In the shadows, a lost light,

And the sound that emerges, like a distant echo,

Reveals the soul that has hidden itself,

Out of fear, out of weariness, out of disillusion.

But now, with eyes covered,

Without seeing, only feeling,

I let the music be my voice,

Let it express what words cannot reach,

And let it, at last, reveal what is best

That still remains in me, in this deception of existence.

The piano is my confidant,

My tears, its mournful notes,

And as I play, I discover that creating

Is, perhaps, the only truth

That has never left me, even when

Life tried to silence my being.

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