that rest in array.
An arrangement
of sable and snow
that lies linear
left to right,
of gloomy coal
and light ash
still limned in luster,
of shadowy dusk
against dazzling dawn
still shedding its shimmer.
Each graze and touch
of lustrous levers
breathe breath and brawn
into heavy palms,
wooden fists,
to strike steel strands,
rich tones resonating
from thunderous bass,
yet still soft
and sonorous,
to a shrill treble,
yet just as canorous.
Each stream and cycle
of twelve tones
blossom and bloom
into mystic melodies,
mellow harmonies,
ever so melancholic
and yet so mirthful.
Each string and series
of absonant chords,
every seventh
and eleventh
clash and collide,
but coalesce, still,
into one dulcet sound.
Ever so erratic,
ever so rhapsodic,
that is the beauty
of the piano.
--Zhiwen L., 9th-12th Grade