The Untapped Keys

At dawn, the piano trotted- it’s clef reposed

melancholies in notes, in known stanzas.

It played octaves of weak fruition, but stored

cryptic genii cased in remote dogmas:

omitted keys- within hidden retreats,

prospects for flair: contained, but used rarely

snubbed recesses and opportune defeats,

haplessly lie frozen, but perfectly  

virginal, in white and untainted ebony.

Fingers ending in garbed choices, perchance

for kin or notational amity,

loving notes in a life-long, feigned romance.

So, touch those keys, veiled in joyous cadence,

to end grief housed in your ambivalence.