My Mournful Violin
My mournful violin, a wooden soul,
Beneath my fingers, tales unfold.
Each string a tear, a silent plea,
For joys departed, lost to me.
The bow, a phantom hand that sweeps,
Across the wood, where sorrow sleeps.
A haunting melody, a whispered sigh,
Echoes of love, now past and gone, they fly.
The music weeps, a mournful strain,
Reflected grief, an endless pain.
Each note a chord, a broken heart,
A bittersweet ache, tearing me apart.
My violin, a solace and a curse,
Woven with memories, I hold them close, rehearse.
The echoes linger, in the fading light,
Of love's departing, in the starless night.
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