Return of the blue - 3

The music flowed,
Trickling at first, with a faint high note,
Fingers slowly caressing the black and white,
The tempo rose as he delved deeper.

Each stroke adding a bit more blue,
To the dark grey clouds,
The winds ceased, the howls stopped,
His faint strokes pierced the silence far.

The violin came in at the right beat,
Bridging the gaps of his keys,
An endless continuum of sounds and thoughts,
And smile flowed back in his empty face.

The dam had burst long, now it would not stop.
The music gushed like he had never known,
The perfect fabric of high and low,
Shone with beauty he never knew.

Beauty is abstract, hard to define,
There is beauty in the blue, and in the grey,
But the beauty that elevates you is the truest of all,
And he felt blissful.

Landscapes unimagined flashed by,
As emotions unknown poured through,
The colours, the sights, he never knew,
Carried by the waves of his keys.

The kaleidoscope paused to a sharp halt,
As he looked up to the smiling face,
His coffee piping hot, a flat white,
A puzzled waitress to a puzzled man.

He smiled back and paid its price,
The sights from before still dripping out,
He sank back into his silent orchestra,
Hoping to return back to the blue.