In a hush where silence breathes, She sits alone where, shadows wreath. She plays not just with hands, but time. With echoes folded into rhyme. The notes speak words she dared not say, The chords held secrets she hid away. Her hands, like wings of restless flame, Brush keys that seek a secret name. The world outside may rage and roar, But here, the music is much more- A stone carved from sound and soul, Where broken pieces become whole. She plays for those who dare to feel, For hearts too wounded to conceal. The ache beneath, surface calm- A silent scream, a healing palm. In every note a fire burns, A past remembered, a future yearns. The final chord, a fleeting breath A dance with life, defying death. The pianist's soul in every note, Weaving untold stories through a jolt. A world unraveled with each sound- Where a heart listens, lost then found.