A sea of white stretches out,
Formed by dozens of pools,
Which can be defied
If one finds the black bridges
And dares to take the plunge.
When the frosted water is touched,
Cold will spread through the fingers
And climb up to the source
Where the movement once originated
As to produce the sound of sentiment.
Great pressure is put on the bridges
Which collapse into the oceans
And are sucked into the whirlpool
Made of a hundred sounds
So they can travel to the paradise.
Now the birds can sing and the rain can fall,
Creating an elegant symphony
Blowing the clouds of the previous storm away
To make place for a more gentle one.
But even dreams will once fade
And raindrops will turn back
Into a thundering hurricane
That sucks everything back
To the earthly world
Where the floods wave furiously
And water is turned into ice.
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So this is a poem about a piano. I myself play the piano a lot and I especially love to play classical pieces. This poem's structure is based on the piano pieces of Chopin, which often begin in minor, go to major and change back into minor.
