Song in Solitude

My hands are flying,
Faster than the speed of light
Producing a tune that is natural,
That is self learned, unable to be taught.

There is no judgment.
No sight involved.
There is no wrong key or chord to hit,
For this piece is mine,
only mine will it be.

A song will be sung without a mouth,
The crescendo will collect to the brim.
The tension will grow ever so slightly.
still the melody will carry on.

I stumble on the bridge to a new passage
That will conclude the show for the night,

Yet I will pursue the finish,
As if there ever was one,
Till all that remains is the piano and myself
Till I have let myself be heard.