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.
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