There is a fountain flowing,
a thin, pure stream of melody
unbedazzled by cymbals and trumpets
rather,
the bending of willow boughs
the strain of violins
stringing away at my heart
drops of ivory, plunking
wet and dewy on the ground
a song laid naked, exposed
the longest sigh
that billows off precipices
into an abandoning
breath of clarity.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
There is a fountain flowing,
a thin, pure stream of melody
unbedazzled by cymbals and trumpets
rather,
the bending of willow boughs
the strain of violins
stringing away at my heart
drops of ivory, plunking
wet and dewy on the ground
a song laid naked, exposed
the longest sigh
that billows off precipices
into an abandoning
breath of clarity.
