The Doctor's Keys

Broken was my heart, like fragile debris of a broken glass

I sat in a chair, in front of a piano borne in brass.

I let my tears flow, like a dirty river from a watery hill

Till my emotions be like noble rock on an insipid stand still.

Must the treachery of love so deceptively fine be excruciating?

Must I be tortured by pain so unending?

I cannot bare to live a life with a broken heart.

Must there be found something of this end, it would be a new start.

I stared at the piano as if it had wisdom— enough to be supplementary

Of what I need so I may break free from the bonds of agony.

But all it did was imitate my very prime action,

He stared back at me, T’was his inanimate motion.

I reached for his keys, the very foundation of his silent soul

I pressed them, played with every black and white till a pianist was my sudden role

He spoke to me in notes and melodies of mellifluous harmony

He drilled into my skin, reaching deep within to get to the chain that is perpetually binding me.

Like the virgin ground of dear mother Earth, every single link cracked

My heart was anew, as if of pain, it was never attacked.

The piano was my doctor and its music was my medicine

He have put things back— same as they’ve always been.

I slept the night lulled by peace, as if nothing had ever happened

Awakened by the nonspeaking harmony of my doctor that has gotten me unchained.

Though a new age does not begin today, a new me is born still,

Thanked be the doctor for his keys, for from them, did I heal.