An Expression

A sinister, yet beautiful machine;
silently standing with an inviting gleam.

A glance about by turn of head,
and then, forward with a wary tread.

A slip of the hand starts the sound,
a quick jerk back and a fleeting look around.

Harmony, steady and constant,
while Melody is performing bold, and confident.

The air is timid in the genesis,
but, at length, it creates a forbidden sort of heavenly bliss.

How easily the soul may renew and repair,
and how the heart can be lifted, rectified from despair.

Across the ivory, the aria dances;
the ballad increasingly enhances and romances.

Bemused in the mind's elaborate imagination,
an expression makes it's saving grace, it's final salvation.

But then, a clamor, an interruption.
Shall it sing more? No, it is past and forgotten.

So ends a delicate, arising moment,
where an expression commands, and the body is movement.