The Piano Player

The pianist lifts his arms,

His hands come crashing down.

The bass notes growl, an ominous crescendo,

Warning of civil unrest and tension,

And of a Europe about to go to war.

The audience watches,

Hoping, praying that war will not come.

The pianist pauses, a brief silence that pulsates with uncertainty.

He lifts his wrists again, resuming the menacing trill in the bass,

His fingers working furiously as the growl grows in volume

And the temperature rises in the auditorium.

The audience stares.

A pause follows, and then a lament,

The work of a composer weeping for a lost love, for days gone by,

For his country, perhaps, and for his compatriots.

The pianist continues to play.