In a seated position, straight is my back.
On the board lies 88 keys.
Some in white and fewer in black.

I position my fingers with ease and care.
I let the keys play themselves,
and play a song that is true and bare.

I can feel the chords strike the wire.
I can feel the honesty of the notes,
and every truth that they require.

Keys played for false reason,
Are the one true crime,
and falseness in any season.

A minor fall and a major lift,
I am reminded of my mother,
"The ability of music is but a gift."

Some are bright and fewer are dark
I notice the pattern of the keys,
and on a profound journey I do embark.

There will always be darkness in this life,
but a world can exist,
where darkness is less rife.

written under the influence by,