#violist
*oh violinist
you play your violin so gently,
you paint the room with your lovely melodies
and it's always a beautiful piece of art
but yet you play with my heart
like a little boy
who enjoys playing with his toys
oh violinist
is my heart not as gentle
as your violin?
oh violinist
i knew it was a mistake to let you in.*
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 6:46 PM UTC
even as I lift it like a wounded bird off pavement,
out of its case and against my chest
as my heart cradles it close and my hand presses it away.
I don't let it in yet. I can't. Not yet. Maybe never.
The viola sits atop my knee and waits for me.
And they know - I know they know - how long it's been
From my own lips, lips that once would hum along
As younger fingers danced up and down that ebony stage...
It's nothing to me now, but it's a gift, so it's everything.
...they'd dance for hours, because I loved it.
I grew around it and it grew through me,
This need I could never share without seeming crazy
And maybe I was.
I loved the feel of it, the sound of it,
like a thunderstorm waiting just for me,
in the palm of my hand
like the one turning the viola atop my knee.
The strings face outward. When the time comes to play,
She will turn a graceful arc until the cool of her rib
rests against my shoulder like a lover's temple,
her eyes turned up to wait for me
to realize just how long it's been.
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC