Violin

Thread these thoughts through stretched, thorough fingers,
as your melodies tug this heart to the brink.

You sing the songs of obstinate children,
of fine ladies with their tea-stained lace,
and elegant gentlemen unable to speak.

Like a lonely, hardened leaf,
who, golden in death,
refuses to release the tree;

Suspended between living and letting go…

…you sing.

Longing for someone to listen,
searching for something to say,

stomp your foot, stubborn little tune
and thread these thoughts through your stretched, thorough fingers
as your melodies tug my heart to the brink