The man and the piano

A single room.
No light but a candle acting as the night's lonely moon.
The door to the outside barred and covered with wood.
Contents...nothing but a man, piano and paper.
Not a single pen, pencil, or other.

In desperate acts, he screamed and kicked...
No one would ever hear, no one would ever listen.
He knew it, his fate was fixed.
The tears came down his cheeks, in the dim light the silently glisten.

The man noticing the silence and a promise.
A promise to himself...to never let the quiet haunt again.
He stood, rather quickly and staggered to the piano.
His hand rested upon its shiny white keys.

Ding...
The sound rung throughout the room.

The man smiled, sitting upon the matching bench.
He picked up the paper and shuffled through,
he sighed loosening up, as if someone unscrewed a dam's bolt with a wrench.
He stopped at a song, as he remembered old days...

The music set down, he hummed it aloud...
Then began to play Prelude in Db Major No.15, op.24 by Chopin

He could see it...
The rain he once loved...
Only fit to be played with the melody of this song...

The movement over, He shuffled to the next peice.
Piano Sonata 14. Movement 2, Op. 27
Then he remembered...
Why he had promised himself...and played.

That man...
A piano player for a now broken orchestra...
He, whom had played fifth of fifths...
Had been condemned to a room with the piano,
For this heinous crime.

His last memories...
his hands upon the piano, as he was sentenced...
To play till his demise...
The man and the piano