Trigger warning. This is one of my favorite poems:
The Violin Wept
The violin wept it’s tears in the rain
Wept like a heart that is rent with pain
Wept of sorrows too deep to express
Whispered of longing too secret to guess.
Only the wailing wind and I knew
Of the longing too wide to escape.
I could not hold the music in my hand
To whisper, yes, I understand..
I know what it is to have my soul die
I know of pain that cannot cry
I know what it is to call out in pain
For a hand I cannot hold again –
The Violin keened it’s last sobbing note
The violinist packed it with it’s bow.
And left. He would never know
How his music spoke to me, and how it cried with me.
But I know – and I am missing thee.
5
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