The Musician

The glasses turned up on his head

Sit like a craftsman’s crown on his short black curls

Beneath them his brow crowds low in concentration

Carving furrows at the corners of his eyes

 

Arms entwine about his instrument

Cradling it paternally upon his knee

Hands pass over the tremulous strings

Calling them to sing

 

Eyes half-closed in deep emotion

Lips twisted with the effort of precision

Jaw set firm and covered in abrupt grey whiskers

Shoulders once heavy with the yoke of Monday

Now light, as free as Easter morning

 

His fingertips dip like a painter’s brush,

They seem to dance, leaping with grace,

The grace of children at play in the summer sunlight

Yet moving together with accuracy

The accuracy of soldiers in formation

 

His left and his right hands like perfect partners

In a harmonized union traverse the worried frets

As the music escapes the heart of the musician

Soaring beyond, on unseen wings,

Away above the night

Reviews

[Dr. Wood ?]

well you have a talent but I am not really expert enough to help you hone it...You should maybe join a writing group. My confidence and ability was increased by doing such a thing. Don't turn a blind eye to advice...sorry I couldn't be more specific...This one just seems a little over cooked