You were violin
And, I was piano
Words weren't needed
The music explained it all

don't create distance between us,
like painting oceans between the skies & lands
unreachable,
like,
branches caging you from beneath your deepest
secrets.
and no amount of rain is enough to make the
drought in my eyes leave, like all the people
we said goodbye to
at train stations & graveyards
that soon became as empty & cold as
the bottles she'd drowned her sorrows into;
setting skins on fire & smoking death into the lungs
like snow-kissed bodies whispering love songs to ghosts
oh dear Bukowski, girls like her don’t learn to
walk through fires
they are fire-lungs & burnt skies,
haunted nursery rhymes bleeding out of souls
like volcanoes & violin screams.

¤==()()

in the birdsong and the wind
God plays his violin!


[10W]
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/29/2016

My caressing hands have stopped trying to tame the strings.
They move now more to harmony than to melodious things.
Brassy bands, drunk sailors and the sound of laughter.
The D string, the rough bar-stool clamp and clatter.
The sound of voices, raucous and hoarse with song.
The sound of voices, laughing as they all yell along.

It's a barstool anthem;
It's great and it's loud.
There're no classics here...
but Bach would be proud.

he spoke out his heart
right next to my ear
and it tickled inside
like a soft violin

Armchairs and whiskey.
Bottle on the side table.
Eyes open wide, unable
to sleep. Thoughts creep
into his shaking skull.
Hands shake and grip the bow.
He pulls his scream across a string,
because his throat won't voice his wearied woe.

The sound's more than just pain,
and it tells more of his aching bones
than it should.
He plays the tears he can't show,
and it's understood
as the instrument moans.
That's all he needs to show a world
that doesn't know what his pain sounds like.
He'd talk about it if he could. Rachmaninov understood.

you lied to me, idiot
you told me that we would play songs together
you told me that you would play with me
for the last time in your life
before you truly left me *behind

under the petals of the cherry blossoms
i was just a friend of yours who seemed so ordinary
a person who just wrote scores to a music sheet
whose fingers haven't touched a piano in years
stuck in the past of his horrible memories

you keep bugging me for canelés
you keep hitting me with your shoe
you keep pestering me to keep practising
i hate the way you see me as just a friend
but i really don't know what made me love you

you hid a secret from me at the start of april
henceforth, i was able to know about it
to know about it by seeing it without warning
that you were at your last days during the winter months
your hand slipping from consciousness, losing its grip

these music sheets i was never able to grasp for long
you gave them back to me, the energy that i've lost
to play the music full of words and expression
for i truly cannot be good with my own words
but through sounds, i can reach your heart

for the last time, i played, i played out for you
my heart pouring its feelings onto the piano
as if it was my very own, indulged to its melody
you face before me one last time with your violin
before i knew it, you left me with tears streaking down my cheeks

*you may be an idiot, but i love you very much

Eyes glazed of whispers, as spectral wisps played
Upon dead wood, melody bled slowly out.

Siren of morbidity,  the departed attune to her
Rapture, Risen on white ash from above.

Frigid was her beauty as she performed, all would
Dance to the elegant tunes of deaths calling.  

Radiant glows arose and for this the wood decayed
And ash wallowed, her rhapsody faded to daylight.

All that arose wilted, no longer nourished by her calling.
Cremated on sunlight's bliss, as if they were never there

Eyes glazed of whispers, she awaits for the time of
Shadows, to play her tune of oblivion, will you stay?