Jun 2015
Words are just words.
Though they move with a flow
to match the rivers of my soul.
Though they bend like my bow.
Though they showcase it all:
The love. The hurt.
They're just words.
Though they sing like my strings,
though they can be sung; they sing
hollow;
My strings and my bow
prove to me words are words.
Why then, do these phrases
showcase my soul?
My violin is my muse,
and I know it seems obtuse
to say that words are just words.
But I wish I could play for you all.
Then you'd see my soul
in crescendo...
Not simply this piece of the whole.
Though they move with a flow
to match the rivers of my soul.
Though they bend like my bow.
Though they showcase it all:
The love. The hurt.
They're just words.
Though they sing like my strings,
though they can be sung; they sing
hollow;
My strings and my bow
prove to me words are words.
Why then, do these phrases
showcase my soul?
My violin is my muse,
and I know it seems obtuse
to say that words are just words.
But I wish I could play for you all.
Then you'd see my soul
in crescendo...
Not simply this piece of the whole.
I'm not a poet, though I appreciate the praise.
I'm a violinist. I wish that I could show you all my music, so you could see that I am so much more than these words that you praise so much. I appreciate it, but I can't help but think I don't deserve it in light of the sounds that I ache to bring the world.
I'm a violinist. I wish that I could show you all my music, so you could see that I am so much more than these words that you praise so much. I appreciate it, but I can't help but think I don't deserve it in light of the sounds that I ache to bring the world.
(United States)
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