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Emma Sep 29
Notes drift through the air
Everything stops to listen
The violin bow drifts
Through dimensions of music
Carving a note into the earth
Miles away,
Fingers move across a keyboard
Creating magic
Real magic
Through music
Next to her
A gentle voice begins to sing
Creating a melody
Music travels everywhere
It's real magic
To those who can
Lyda M Jul 22
And doubts have dashed
And murmurs gone
And frowns have turned downside up

To smiles
And heart
And laughter
And newfound friends
And applause
And gratitude

As miles of
Hard work

Have rewarded the sweetest
Not of gold but of

a musical gift
Written after we won a music competition. Some people were salty about losing. I'm just glad all my hard work didn't go to waste.
Simra Sadaf May 9
her voice
like a finely tuned violin,
you let in sink in,
and touch every string
of your soul.
E over c2 May 7
i play words like my violin
smoothly at times but harsh and rough when i forget how to play
forget what words to use
how my bow slides across
how too much vibrato can make it all sound fake
how hyperbole can make it all sound fake
motifs scattered throughout
taint the sound the words
with familiarity with nuance
with you my dear
there is no hyperbole
no vibrato needed
no need for such accenting
for you make my words
my sound smooth as chocolate from the get go

for i never understood what it meant for a kiss to be sweet,
until my lips met yours.
for i never understood what it meant for a person to be warm,
until my arms wrapped around you.
you were warm to me
accepted me even though every inch of you was scared to
was telling you to back down
and i cannot thank you enough for that

you say that your pieces are scattered
the truth is, so are mine
so lets let two perspectives persist and permit
a love that leaves lies behind and lets lips be
so that broken pieces on the floor can not be looked at as flaws
but as scores
as scars
of a past that continues to be made
only now, every atom of me wants that past to be made with you
but unfortunately my past is cursed. so, lets stay in the present.  
so that maybe our puzzle pieces when put together
present a picture

of us

in our own winter wonderland where the world can stop.
and we can love.
for i've discovered in all of our broken pieces.
I love you.
a journey of discovery
Lyda M May 5
and your music was the sweetest
to my ears and to my heart

but your soul was the darkest
when people drift apart

minds spiralling down to madness
like an eternal roundabout

and maybe in the end
that's who we really are

people with minds unbound
spoken in the language of
music over black and white notes
as someone who love(d) you, I might not have gone. But as someone who plays music as well, I did. and what a job well done. what beautiful music. you were wonderful. and I'm sorry I will have to write this here instead of saying it to you up front.
zb May 1
my heart is a violin
with too many strings

play my heartstrings
let your fingers pull my emotions
rest your hand on the back of my neck
i cannot make anything beautiful on my own
but sweetheart you can make me sing so softly

hold me close
dear i'll always love you
feel my skin, polished-smooth
warm under your hands
and know i'm yours

calm my frazzled strings
soothe my worn-out pegs,
drawn tighter and tighter and tighter
straining so deeply to hold
the strings in place
let me cling to you
let me take solace and peace
for but a few moments

my heart is a violin with too many strings,
played by too many people
my strings have been drawn taught
my body has grown tired
my music has grown dull
but with your gentle hands
encompassing the surface of my heart
i can learn to trust again
i can learn to sing again
and sweetheart i can sing so sweetly
for you
smokey basil Apr 5
i let your hand go, softly,


we parted our
separate ways.

the tracing in the sand
was washed away by
the foamy edges
of the gentle waves.

the driftwood
was swept out by
the misty tide
and off the shore

away from the
salty coast,
into the eternal,
pristine sea.

the violin solo was
carried by the breeze
and the tubas dove
deeper into their octave

the final breath of your name
touched my tongue,
and it was our
final goodbye.
Dakota Apr 2
Classical music makes life feel so important
Terry Collett Mar 29
The violin is in your hand.
It is lifeless. Just a collection
of substances and shape
and style and craftsmanship.

You place one end under
your chin. Pluck a string.

You tighten to get in key
known by ear. You draw
the bow across and finger
the strings. The recital
is later. Beethoven violin
sonatas. Practice time.

You close your eyes.
You know it by heart.

She will be there watching
and listening. Her eyes
all over you. Over you
like last night. Last night
yesternight betwixt thy lips.

You practice on and on.
You pause. That last
passage haunts. You play
it over and over. Enough.

You put away the instrument
and close the case. You
close your eyes and picture
her lips gently on your face.
Jack Bennett Feb 22
A violin player
In the street
Playing for food
My ice cream melts
Into the cracks
To feed the ants
That conspire below
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