Sounds Perfect

When I see the movements of
His fingers across the board it
Causes me to feel a chill as if
The sounds it made were
Coming of his heart and not
Of his fingers flexing skillfully.
The sounds emerging enrapture
Me. They force me to imagine
Pictures of dancing lights, ballerinas
And a graceful destruction
Of the things that I believe
I know. The world his fingers
tell me about is wrought with
death and disease and
destitution. Still I listen.
Still I hear the beauty that
comes. Even in the dark
and dangerous night
of the world the sounds
conjure in me, I can see
people moving skillfully and
gracefully through the streets
of fire and of death. They
dance as if in a perfect world
As if in a comfortable utopia
that leaves nothing in it to
be desired. I still know better
than they, however, for I
know that he causes this
with the playing of his fingers
across the board of switches
and of dials. He causes this
by allowing his graceful fingers
to play where they have no
natural belonging. He causes this
by creating the technology that
allows for a world so calmly
confused. Still, I cannot help
but hear the beauty in his work
and in his tapping of fingers that
giveth and taketh away.