Her lighthearted fingers tickle the keys
A breath of wind on the back of her neck
Solace and comfort in the slow gentle sound
The clear harmony of another genius
Pouring through her
Frustrations and sweat her only payment
To ascend this mountain

When it is through she will sigh
She loves this sound
This touch
The ivory and ebony depressing, rebounding
The slow stoke and wail across a string
Reverberating with an arm, a wrist, or merely a finger

But perfection, too, leaves her strangely unfulfilled
And she looks around in bewilderment
Flitting from note to note
Piece to piece
Occupation to occupation
The neverending carnival revolving slowly

Light, slight and sparkling
But not what she was looking for
Not what she sought to find
This thing, this pillar of her life
And it draws her in, yet nudges her away
Words of misery and discomfiture
Written on her brow

She will return
When patience does
Frowning in concentration
Her fingers and hands dancing once again
And perhaps if she presses on
It will become what she seeks
For she would like nothing better

In the dark she will weep for it still
It is her heartbeat
But rejects her willing soul
And sends her back
Music is her medium
Yet it denies her still