Your Symphony
Like the caressing of several chords,
strings waiting to be sung.
A silent haunting humanity holds its breath,
a voice unsung.
The moaning of sweet music, the water in thine eyes.
The humble kneeling in naked truth, the ending of all lies.
Let me be your instrument, let my body be wooden and hollow.
Let me sing your passion with all my heart...
and your pain, enduring, I'll swallow.
Copyright © Amy Greaves | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment