To the Pianoforte

My little ivory keys, are you listening to me?
My wooden music box, will you hear my troubled thoughts?
My paper, creamy white, will you bring my mind some light?
My gentle pencil gray, will you hold my heart today?

Aimless and wandering, with no certain path,
I find myself consistently giving in to wrath.
I'm frustrated and lonely, though I'm telling you I'm fine;
If this is my future, where do I resign?

An undecided future, like a thick surrounding mist;
Untouchable, indifferent, although I shake my fist,
And so with nothing left, I sit down and count back time,
Waiting for it all to come crashing down.

There's no more use for poetry, no rhythm to this rhyme.
It's all been written down before, so why am I wasting time?
Though so young and inexperienced, still I feel so old,
Battling the sun’s warm rays despite my hate for cold.

The music doesn't come to me as it once did before,
When God and I were close, and I wanted nothing more.
A roadblock, a missing word, the ever-restless mind,
Unable to focus, leaving scraps of poetry behind.

Worthlessness haunts me, though I'm blessed with many a skill,
With my future dim and cloudy, I've no strength, I've no will.
I want to charge through its indifference, but at once I cannot move,
Bound by everything I know I'm sure to lose.

My little ivory keys, are you listening to me?
My wooden music box, will you hear my troubled thoughts?
My paper, creamy white, will you bring my mind some light?
My gentle pencil gray, will you write me a song today?