• firstdraftpoet 5w

    His life is the Piano,
    But for one secret moment, he wishes it wasn't.
    He wishes his thoughts weren't consumed
    By the stark black and white
    That produced such meticulous notes,
    That had to be strung together with melancholy
    To make sense.
    He wishes he had loved the violin, like she does.
    Maybe, if he hadn't loved the monochrome,
    If he had learned the flowing, melancholy language
    That the strings spoke when she played,
    Maybe then, he could sit behind her,
    Her weak body depending on him,
    And with her power-drained arms in his,
    He could hold the violin to her,
    Just as she used to hold it in her embrace,
    And play it with her passion,
    Make her feel one last time before she had to go
    The feeling of the hard wood on her shoulder,
    The smell of ebony,
    The vibration of the strings echoing back and forth
    Between them.
    If only he knew how to play the violin.

    ©firstdraftpoet

    #lovestories #lovepoems #poetry #writersofmirakee #readwriteunite #piano #writersnetwork #violin #music

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    He wishes he had loved the violin
    Like she does.
    Maybe, if he hadn't loved the monochrome
    If he had learned the flowing, melancholy language
    That the strings spoke when she played
    Maybe then, he could sit behind her
    Her weak body depending on him
    And with her power-drained arms in his
    He could hold the violin to her
    Just as she used to hold it in her embrace
    And play it with her passion.



    ©firstdraftpoet