The violin weeps with melodic cries.
The piano is dripping dust from its untouched keys.
A voice that brought you so far,
so unused to producing the songs it so wishes to sing.
A dream unfulfilled,
a dream shattered by reality.
Only a mask covers the broken melodies of a forgotten life.
“Asking questions seems so practical,
Useless,
Predictable.
She doesn’t know who she’s meant to be.
The lost girl with her violin.”
As the music no longer dripped off her finger tips,
she picked up a pencil and paper and let the words flow out.
From one to another,
neither the same nor different.
Can the question of identity be answered so simply?
From melodies to poetry,
her story has only just begun.
About the Creator
Angel Adagio
Thank you for taking the time to read some of my work. Your support is much appreciated. It may not be perfect, but it's real. I hope you'll stay a while.
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Comments (1)
Wow, beautiful!