Silent strings are stronger still
than many, strong with each other.
True to itself, if true at all
or but the echo of a mother:
An echo, an echo but higher.
An echo, not embers but fire.
A thunderstorm in June at sea
to petrify and admire.
Single strings sing higher pitches
undestracted and unaccompanied.
Shining their own sun sincerely,
unfettered, let loose and freed:
Alone, alone but living.
Alone, unheard but singing.
A hidden diamond in the dirt;
competing not but winning.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 2:24 PM UTC
Silent strings are stronger still
than many, strong with each other.
True to itself, if true at all
or but the echo of a mother:
An echo, an echo but higher.
An echo, not embers but fire.
A thunderstorm in June at sea
to petrify and admire.
Single strings sing higher pitches
undestracted and unaccompanied.
Shining their own sun sincerely,
unfettered, let loose and freed:
Alone, alone but living.
Alone, unheard but singing.
A hidden diamond in the dirt;
competing not but winning.
A poem looking at the bright sides of being alone.
