“Requiem”
I sit on the cold wooden bench,
And shift it a little closer
To the piano.
The judge sits at her table,
Calm, impassive, chilling.
My mind is clear, calm;
But my heart is racing.
My fingers touch the smooth keys
With the confidence of practice,
With uncertainty of the moment.
With a deep breath,
My fingers move.
The voice of Beethoven,
Out of time and out of place,
Fills the room,
A beautiful sigh from the grave.
The fingers dance a delicate dance,
Moving, flowing.
The pinky slips.
Move on, move on.
But the slip magnifies in my mind.
Move on, move on!
And the judge looks on.
The song ends, the requiem finished.
The judge nods.
I move on to the next song.
As I prepare to call upon the spirit of Chopin,
The lingering thoughts of the slip
Remain in my mind.
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