slender spires
soft stiff grass
a violinist.
A lonely note
through the night
echo of
Canon in D.
Slender strings
produce every note,
voices in wind.
Summer sky
night,
a sudden crescendo:
intense and eccentric.
Regret.
Me, alone.
Walking down
the wrong path,
too late
to turn back.
I walk closer,
listen.
Strings move,
The pace quickens.
Notes become two
not one.
Sincerity.
Sorrow enters
me,
deserted
on empty road.
not knowing
home,
not having
someone to
depend on.
Rhythmic motions of bow
slow
soft sound
a single feather,
falling,
despair.
no more
Violin strings
move
melody
begins
twists
-turns
not following
-path
strings
and what they do
what was once
taught,
now
follows identity
what is
believed.
Letting go
exposing the soul
removing sorrows,
losses.
Hope and strength
sneak through.
Tranquility,
peace,
serenity, and
harmony.
My hands clap
slowly and softly,
appraisal,
the violinist stops,
the bow drops
on thick layers of grass.
Notes dispersed out
Night comes.
What was loud is
now silent.
Stars above me
light up dimmer switch.
Nothing is impossible.