The Story of Joshua Bell
They don't speak
those walls
only absorb
scraps of life
the stench of urine
lucky pennies
desperate art
and a ringing clamber of voices
that move with every rush of air
down winding subway tunnels
here life collides
in status
and in thunders
those walls
bear witness
to many miseries
and many wonders
on this day
the subway walls
mesmerised by a sight
never seen before
lamented
the death of beauty
as it passed thousands
gracefully
and ignored
rushing
skirts, pants, collars, cologne
rushing
fingers, slender, darting in a blur
hollow
minds, tempers, hellos and goodbyes
hollow
music, echoing, not a soul does it stir
lost
man to the intricate beauty of pattern
lost
eyes of passerbys to the empty roundabouts of life
fickle
strings snapping with the stress of exertion
fickle
ambition, love, expectation and strife
they were all mixed together
in a bowl of concrete walls
they whirled
six of Bach's greatest works
a handcrafted violin
from 1713
played by one of the greatest
violinists
in the world
he played incognito
only six people stopped
20 gave him money
and then continued
to walk
a three year old boy
was drawn
to the sound
his mother let him
listen
his eyes wide
and astound
but watches soon tick
and they tick too loud
and they drive
the crowd forward
as if stopping
is not allowed
Joshua Bell
let his bow fall limp
as the last of his music
was swallowed
by the whitenoise
of life
and screeching
metro trains
the only sound
of applaud
soon stolen
by a new rush of air
the subway walls
silent
reflect
people would find peace
in the thick of life
if only
they would
connect.
Copyright © Krystal Cochrane | Year Posted 2012
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