It is in a dark house,

Where I hear him play.

His voice welcomes me, unused and worn.

He doesn’t see me, because I’m not there.

His old locks of hair, grayed and messy,

Where has his strength gone?

His wrinkled fingers brush the keys.

There’s no one to hear them 

But himself.

Regret fills the room, a heart’s melody

Wrapping around my own.

Is this the pain of a forgotten man?

A genius who has been used and tossed aside?

A performer who created applause with his name,

With aweing sounds, condemning shame-

Raucous rhapsodies making beasts seem tame.

Luscious strokes of broad sweeping colors,

Speckled with the chirps of the morning sparrow.

Where did he go?

I hear an old man who discards fame–

Speaks to himself and rekindles shame.

His powerful, everlasting, eternal flame,

Now as fleeting as a light on a windowpane.

Scream for me! Let the piano roar!

What is this tune that shreds my heart,

And puts tears in my eyes?

A tune that is filled with regret and sorrow–

Scream for me! Where is the great Liszt?

The room turns warm, and the melody sings,

Yet always tinged with sadness.

You are crying.

I know it.

I hear it.

The drops land on your hands,

They slide off your face.

I hear bottomless regret.

It is the sound of a man who has lived too long,

Of one who has done too much. 

I am sorry.

I know you are too.

I hear it

In my soul. 

It is much darker in the room

When he finishes playing.

The silence is oppressing,

The emptiness is terrifying. 

I go for the door,

To try and leave.

The old, withered man turns,

And for a moment I see greatness in his eyes.

I smile.

Goodbye Liszt.

I hope…

That we will meet again.