Music by burnt ears she cried
Had I not the wherewithal to desist
     thus I followed; oh, I followed
     her song into the hallway, and the
     silhouettes on the walls, they danced
     to the echo of my footsteps against the stone
and sang the whispers of the torches’ flames.

Adieu—said I to my departing companions
     as I sank into the steps, foot by foot
The notes, delicate as they, twisted in the air
so generously and allowed me to lean upon them
for support as I climbed
      and climbed
           and climbed. Such enchantment!—

Into a grand hall was I led, with diamonds hanging
     and candles flickering, in circles, in circles
but the other beauties in the room were dead
their heads wasted away from thirst and age
with their petals mourning below the tombs

I saw her at the piano, its polished sheen alight
and received quite a fright when her countenance
     became and arrived before my eyes
for she was young and she was old at the same
whilst the weariness in her breath never changed.
Her hands were pale and frail
yet her fingers retained their gay diligence
     and jumped and jumped from key to key

I was delirious; and implored to her
Please—I’ve been caught—mightn’t you stop
the music now?
A laugh!—from myself or from her, or from whoever
then; Forgive me—said she,
her face turned away—I wish I could
     and continued thereon her eternal song.

So I sat, in the arms of her serenade
when a three count rest provided me the chance
to ask why could not she pause—
She proclaimed her certainty in stance
that if she stopped, as would everything else
Her life was the song she played
      the song she played was her life
so how could she allow herself the cessation?

The diamonds hung and the candles flickered
Spoke I, and wondered why she found it to be sure—
“A feeling?
An omen? Sense?”
Oh, she simply knew, from
the tumbling she felt within her stomach
     and the lump in her throat
It made it hard to breathe, she said

My pity clouded my sensibility as I felt—
but when I asked her name, and she remembered not
     the fog dispersed from thought.
“Then why continue?” I cried,
“If you have not even an identity, a life!”
And I leapt from my seat in the audience
And I pried her fingers away, away from her canvas.

The diamonds hung
the candles flickered
and a subtle silence cloaked the realization
until replaced by her lamentations of an existence forgone.