Emalyn Sharp

It sits alone in the room – empty, dark, and cold.

It desires nothing more than for someone to come along.

There are so many things it wants to say, a tale to be told.

But right now it’s all locked away, the lid has fallen closed.  

Only a few are brave enough to tangle with its power.

They force their way beyond the cover, on a random passing hour.

But after a few botched sounds from the ivory keys,

They decide that they’ve had enough, and they quickly leave.  

There’s a story that it wants to share if only people would listen.

It’d tell them about its pain–the sorrow that comes from living.

But more than that, it would reveal the joy of happy evenings,

When surrounded by the ones it loved, it never ceased from singing.  

It waits patiently for the day when it can reveal the truth,

When someone comes along who finally knows what to do.

They’ll touch the keys and strike a chord, and all the memories deep inside,

Will welling up, overflow, in the abundance of life.  

The major sounds will bring peace, lull a sweet babe to sleep.

The minor songs will serve to make the listener think.

Treated carefully in that tender care, it will begin to wonder at last,

If ever the pain was real–the trauma of the past.