The ivory keys creep through my fingertips

like the soles pressing against bustling streets.

Moving their way up and down

while different voices are heard aloud.

When I approach Broadway

I see the swirl of colors:

black and white

and yellow.

I press against the black and white

and hear the melodies and harmonies colliding.

The pitch getting high and low

while whistles for taxis are heard in the distance.

These flowing movements of loud and soft

bring happiness to my ears.

The intense crescendo of dynamics,

the rise of pitch,

the ascending notes all lead up to

the feeling when I am surrounded by the bright lights.

The voices of strangers

and the honks of horns

all come together to create the perfect chord.

The chords I play,

the notes I write,

all come together

to create my rhythm of life. 

(Extended metaphor comparing New York City to piano)