my racing heartbeat

My fingers burn, I hear them crack,

my metronome ticks, loud and fast.

A constant crescendo, I’m lost.A dizzying blur, can’t I go back?

To when the ivory felt warm,

underneath the tips that have played songs,

where every chord was a secret shared,

and the pedal breathed when I dared.

The comfort of my leather seat is now torn,

the stress of accented notes is never gone.

Like my racing heartbeat,

my metronome ticks, strict as dawn.

A swarm of trills, it feels like a silver sting,

The black-veined instrument chokes my only voice.

I play the soft passage, again and again and again.

Intensity, a justice to my discord, my choice.

I miss the way the wood would ring,

vibrating through my smaller frame.When every string held a spark,

and the notes were more than just a name.

The depth of keys, a well-worn path,

it still holds a decade of my soul.

My heart still seeks the harmony,

while under every beat I melt, whole.