The Dusty Violin

The first stroke rapidly rose into a crescendo.

Back and forth;

Shrill like a shrew at first

Then haunting like a ghost.

My soul woke up and inhaled the sadness.

The sound of resignation broke my heart.

It broke hearts on the way as it drifted away.

It sounded like all the goodbyes at once,

Rolled into more goodbyes as it went on.

It was heaven and hell imploring each other.

Eternal enemies throwing across

Their memories at each other.

I cradled her and I nuzzled into the wood, caressed it with my chin until I found my rest.

Head slightly leaned into her and I exhaled.

I draw the bow.

One stroke and I heard melancholy in the air.

Something so beautiful has so much anguish, sorrow, and grief.

Sometimes I wonder, who has more pain.

Me or my violin.

I wonder if my pain sounds hauntingly beautiful

Or if it’s just shrieks, shrills and fading away.

The grief filled me and left me miserable.

Speck by speck or in a gush

The dust settled on my violin

On the top shelf of my bookshelf

Holding a haunting secret only I hear. 

The dust has settled on my violin but you still haunt my heart.