The Last Symphony

The musical hall was filled with whines; Of the melancholy melody and spontaneous art. And the maestro's eyes were moving between the lines Waiting to reach his favorite part. I was now on stage! Blown away by the appealing scene, It felt like a picture in a story's page: Neon lights and people's mien. And among the audience: I read the expression of the crippled soul, And that of the afflicted heart. Recognized that look of having a set goal And those looks of desire to-from the beginning- start. I am the broken violin, Owned by the best musician in town At me-he always liked to grin saying that I never let him down. I long for the touch of his bow on my strings.. But I am growing too frail to compete. I have lost the ability to- with the melody- spread my wings, Vapid I became, my taste; bittersweet. My strings will be amputated soon, And no healing process can revive my damaged harmony I will be among the ruins, letting out no tune So today, i will play my last symphony.