Piano

Nestled far away in the woods,
stands a decrepit, desolate house.
The owners of an oil field
built it all, from only their hands,
and called the place a mansion.
Babies were born, lives were lost,
all in the sanctuary of ten rooms
and two sets of stairs.
And now, from thick, utter blackness
that follows a thunderstorm
at two o'clock in the morning,
piano notes start pouring
out through cracks
in the boarded up windows
of the once-beautiful home.
The last piece of furniture
was carried out, by neglectful owners,
over thirty-five years ago.
Yet still, a piano is playing.
The only listeners
of this lovely, haunting melody
are two gray squirrels: on the prowl
for a midnight snack.
But soon, they hop away,
and the music eventually stops.
The house settles back
into its slow decay,
and the ghosts of past memories
stop, shed a few tears,
and softly drift away.


~J.V.Harker~
~Saturday 4 July 2009~