Sometimes the topic comes up,
"what do people say on their death bed?"
and i hear, from a friend, about how she read of a
dying man who had regretted working too much.
Instead, he wished he'd spent more time playing the piano.
And to this, a warmth grows inside me.
But then my friend continues:
we should play the piano, she says;
we should climb mountains and jump out of airplanes, too!
we should do it all! we should live on the edge, she says.
And to this a deep sadness overcomes me.
A soulless spirit has infiltrated her heart.
What life can be found within a piano?
Or out of planes? on top of mountains?
Why not work also? Where truly does life dwell?
No, these activities, in themselves, don't thrive
This man must have danced on top of his piano.
Who could have possibly understood him?
What sweet ambrosia must have flown through his veins,
as he violently hammered upon innocent ivory!
No, senseless exciting activities don't matter.
It is the eruption inside you that does.
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