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This violin is my pen, I am the player.
I use this tune to ink teary words.
I peel my haunted soul – each layer–
As I make my song on these chords.
See not my tears as salt waters–
They are are but rivers of seasoned grief.
They flow for me, for sons and daughters:
Silent but pregnant with unbirthed grief.
I have seen thirst standing in the river;
Hungry I’ve been, standing in the barn.
Where some have smiled, there I quiver;
Orphan I am, I look for my father’s arm.
I slow no tune to make you somnolent-
But my voice shall tear down walls.
I am knight. I string my lance, my instrument:
Listen, a troubled soul, helpless, calls.
tHIS is a wonderful poem…I like the picture more, it tells more words than you can imagine…Can't say more or I might make this beauty sore 🙂
Sueddie, even your poetry nature appeared in your comment here.. you had to rhyme MORE and SORE…was it deliberate?thanks you sire
THIS PIECE is so nice!the picture is one powerful image that endeared me to the write up ….i wish i could wipe that child’s tears.
That was how I felt too on first sighting the picture. Thank you for reading.