Poem: Violin

She's a mess of material

Tightly wrapped and finely designed

Lines aligned and curved at the sides

Looming, sleek, and demanding eyes.

Can I play her heartstrings?

Does she want me to play the melody?

Or does she anticipate mistakes?

And do I really care?

Does the violin notice who plays it

Beyond being impressed upon and used?

Does the music fill her head

Like to me it fills the room?

And do I want to destroy us both

In the short term or the long

To gather in my senses a mirage?

To fiddle with, to orchestrate, to finalize a song?

Do I read the paper right?

Are my hands enough lithe?

And am I holding this violin close enough,

Gracefully enough to my side?

This is not my instrument

And this is not my sound

And what I have looked for in her symphony

Would never here be found.

---

Thank you for reading. Share or tip if you enjoyed this poem, and visit my profile for more ~