Passion

I await her delicate fingers 
To run on me, as I make 
immortal melodies. 
I could read her feelings 
With her tone, When her fingers 
Run rapidly with a smile on her face 
She creates joy. 
When in sorrow, her teardrops run parallel 
to her fingers in slow rhythm 
to express pain. 
In silence, she becomes nostalgic 
and summons memories from the distant past, 
of golden days when I first met her. 
Our love has flourished since then, 
In times of laughter and sadness 
We created music that powers up from 
The core of our souls. 
But now she has left, 
And I am left alone and heart-stricken 
To contemplate the terrible pain 
Killing me from inside. 
Yet I await, 
For the Sun still shines everyday 
Bringing reinforced hope 
Of the day, when she will again 
Touch me and play with her Passion.

The Piano