The Violin of Old
The violin seems to float in space, the bow
slipping and sliding over my heart, the glow
of tears falling down to earth, yet it stirs
the silent wings of butterflies, fluttering as if
pulling an endless thread from my silhouette.
A dark gypsy soul with the moon shines, arms
push and pull each note, like a sullen lullaby.
The knockabout on ebony waves, shoulders the weight
with a mystery of long raven hair, ruthless sadness.
Vibrations of vibrancy, beautifully rumble in the ear,
creating introspections of smoke and mirrors. The years
ebb and flow, the fear long gone, steel tears flow.
The song is sung, not with rhetoric, but rhapsody.
The violin
of old
seems
to float
in space
the bow…
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
