The Violinist

The rumble of strings and the hum of wood,

the pull of the bow.

The slide of the tune

and the beat of the heel on sand.

A whisper of lace with the spin of the body

and the tap of the nails against the neck.

She played for her guitarist

until a man joined her.

His fingers were thin

and white against the wood.

He moved slow,

a little touch and a little sound

mixing with the woman's song.

Pick up the pace

and moving faster.

With a flash of eyes

the musicians were left to die,

and the new violinist moved on

with the old's violin.

He swore he could feel the woman's warmth

on the wood of the violin

and her neck crack as he played.

Reviews

[...]

This is very romantic and sweet. Almost like sonnet from ancient times. I can feel lot of warm and serenity. On the end you put tragic end and even though poem still have romantic mood.