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agalwithwords Sep 12
After a long long time I thought of opening the case
To see the broken bow hanging on the top side,
On the glossy brown body, loose bow strings slide.
Bridge collapsing under the wires is undeniable,
Strings bending to some unknown tune, unrecognizable.

After a long long time I thought of opening the case
Once, it was an instrument of love and affection.
With work, for me to learn and to master.
Over the time the passion is just gone,
Clutching and wondering what went wrong? 

After a long long time I thought of opening the case 
I hugged it tightly and I simply cried.
In a desperate need to rekindle my old flame.
I started to fit together the broken pieces,
I tried to mend the old bearings of neglect.

After a long long time I thought of opening the case 
While wiping down the dust it made me wonder.
Why we let the things we love to fall under?
As we grow old and time passes by,
Things we love the most, always pay the price.

After a long long time I thought of opening the case 
Few things we must hold on to in this life,
No matter if experiences teach you to strife.
I am learning not to forget the things I once loved,
They make you who you are, where you once belonged...
Love for music, love for life...
Anna Sep 8
Vast night above me
Dark and deep sky
The light of more than billion
Dead stars
Was just a normal night
I had you on my arms
Lord knows how I need it again
I miss the normal.

Now all I have
Is the light of more than billion
Alight candles
Dancing like ghosts in the light
They made on my walls
The wind could come in
Whispering like an ancient
Trying to blow my candle's light
It didn't matter
I would grab my old match
And light it again.

The love felt on me
Like a lullaby melody
And as the light of my billion and more candles
I couldn't stop dancing
I had it on my tongue
On my arms and foot
I had the la la la going down my hips
And the warm feeling just made me
Want to dance more.

And my lips could tell
What I feel in my soul
Neither you can deny
We had on us, the glory
Glory over the past
And as the time goes by
I see the glory burning in your eyes.

The sound of more than billion violins
And the whispery wind
I had on my ears
Smell of old ink
On a random jornal
It is what was bringing me back to the
Night's simplicity.
Gem Palomar Jul 19
I, a sweet innocent rosin, has been tainted, by your coarse hands, and your magnificent violin

You stroke me forcefully on your quivering bow
as I give life to music with marvelous delight

But an innocent man you are not, for you take me harder, on to the marvelous bow, a scrupulous innuendos act

At last you end your rubbing to a stop, with me well spent on your magnificent bow, I take my leave into the dark abyss

You play wondrous music from my sweet belongings, a rosin to a bow, a bow to the viloin, and a violin to his player
Charles Ambas Jul 14
I miss the music you played
The way you play your violin
Every single string you plucked
You plucked a string from my heart
Every note you made
You made with such love
But perhaps I suppose
Of all the things I missed
It was you I missed the most
Her voice
is softer
than the
moon, her
countenance
is that of a
fragile
symphony,
soaring
in her violin
song,
she is the
paralian
who lies
upon the
shore
and lets
the emerald
become her
dress and hair,
In the night
ocean, she
hears the
vague
waves of
memories
moving as
light in the
revolving
lanterns of
her mind,
the rose of
time opens,
she recollects
of how she was
the hidden petals
of the library,
delicate in the
secrecy of her,
beyond the old
books, within
her eyes, where
he saw the layers
of her rose
unfold before
the pages
she turned,
it was magical,
he thought,
of how the
small things,
the sea flower
of her secret
garden,
was once
revealed
to none,  
realized
only by
the one
who saw
with the
heart,
the clouds
became
words
unsung
in the gentle
glass silk
caressing
her fair hands,
she mused
upon where
to begin and
end, as she,
the wanderer,
returned from
her dreams,
she closed
her eyes,
through
time,
jazz,
space
and
healing,
the loner
awakens
in the shore
and sails,
holding
the stars
In her coffee
& a vintage
camera,
and it
echoed
to her,
what she
once said
to her lover,
the gentle of
how they
floated as
petals
above the
lotus
ponds,
in the
touching
of hands
and the
secret
she held
in the rose,
I will invite
you to hear
it’s whisper,
“to love is to be
as the water,
to the silver
song, you
will return.”
Kee Apr 15
As the violinist brushes the bow against the instrument
She takes in a deep breath
She takes in those painful memories
And she exhales
They’re gone
Hitting her in flashes
She has to overcome the darkness that stands in the way of her light
She is torn
Because even if she wants to leave her past
She still holds some of those memories clutched tight to her thumping heart
Even the ones that haunt her the most
You see
She is split down the middle
Her mind is saying go
But her body won’t even tilt
She’s frozen stuck in a life
That she had wept about in nightmares
She was strong
But she couldn’t wrap her mind around living like this anymore
She got the message when her eyes would no longer shine
And she had to force a smile on to her face
She just wanted to be normal again
She wanted her violin to bring her joy
Once more
It had been her only sanctuary
The only place she called home
can you hear the sound of my soul? It reminds me crying violin at night. Unfortunately, you don't want to listen to this cacophony... or luckily?
Kat Jan 17
After senior year of high school
I stopped playing violin.
I should backtrack –
It was during that year
That my music changed --
Lost its carefreeness,
Its confidence,
Its spark,
And I no longer savored
Every measure
Or laughed
At every sound
My bow made
When I messed up.

Instead
I tried to be quiet;
To play so that no one
Would hear my mistakes,
So that no one
Would hear
How course,
How callous
My music had become,
Noticing every flaw,
Laughing at the musician
I had turned into.
I tried to be quiet;
But whenever I tried
My hands shook like timbers
In an earthquake
That have lost
Their foundations;
My bow scratched at the strings
Like nails on glass;
My chords were weak,
My melody tenuous,
And with each withering note
I felt so ******* ashamed.
I was no longer proud of my music.
It no longer made me happy
To try and play
Properly,
And instead of sounding better
I sounded even worse
Than I had before.

So after senior year ended
I stopped playing violin,
Put down the instrument
I thought I’d never touch again.
I thought,
What use in playing
When the only music I could make
Was pain?
Why play when I felt
Like it was useless to play at all?
When it took so much effort?
When I was too ******* tired
To remember
What real music sounded like,
And besides,
How would anyone
Ever find my music beautiful?

So I waited in a darkness
Where melodies
Were replaced
With the sounds of my sobs;
Where dancing notes
On white paper
Were replaced with tears
Running down pale cheeks;
Where the passion that permeated
Each song I played
Was replaced with an **** apathy.
This is the time
When my music stopped,
And time ticked by
With the consistency of a metronome
While my foundations crumbled,
Caved in,
Collapsed,
Leaving me wishing
For an end.
Cause even when you feel alone,
If you can still make music
You can still find a reason
To hope;
But I couldn't make music
Anymore.

I got through
This darkness.
I found music again,
Found my melody --
Found it in the sound of laughter,
In the lulls of a new language,
In the pure white
Of mountain snow,
In the soft moist earth
Of forest paths;
I found my music,
I picked up my violin again
And this time
The music was happy,
Happier
Than it ever was before
Because I was so ******* happy
To be alive.
And this time,
There were no expectations
Except that I learn to play
The music I love
Again.

It got worse again
I should have known it would have.
But now
When I am feeling even a bit
Like I did then,
I turn to music.
I pick up my violin
From its case,
Caress its faded edges,
Finger its silver strings,
Dust its worn, warm wood;
I play
My friends’ smiles
My family’s hugs
My professors’ jokes;
I play songs of love
And loss;
I play life
In its carefree curious complexity,
And even if I grow tired,
I never again decide to quit
For good;
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned,
It’s that I should never
Stop playing.
Lyda M Sourne Dec 2018
Let us dance,

Let us sing,

Let us be merry and jovial



See! The lark flies!

Red and gold

Aflutter in the breeze!



The strings resonate

The drums beat in time

As horns and flute

Play



There is much to

Celebrate this

Auspicious day



Auspicious day?

No such thing!



Each day is much

Like the other

And tomorrow



So sadness, evil,

Anxiety,

Away with thee!



We will sing

Of what was,

What is,

What will be



The past shall not

return



The present ever

a walking pace



The future

Unforeseen



So will be our days

Left to fate



Such are the

Years short



So what use are

These of gloom and doom?



Stay with me,

Let us be with

Music til the end



But may our music

Never end.
Beethoven Violin Concerto, Op.61 - third movement
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