Mourning Skies

Violin

Classical string instruments
Like violins, cellos, string basses, and violas
All hold such life in them
It's an energy I cannot fathom
Into words
So composers put that energy into
What we can all understand
Music

It's a universal thing
You don't need to know a certain language
Or understand a dialect
Music is music and something
I hold incredibly close to my soul

I began playing violin in fourth grade
Once I picked up
The shitty rental violin
Vandalized with scratches and cracks
From previous renters
I felt every vibration
Of the hairs on the bow
Across each string
Like a concealed symphony
Under each coiled up string
Filled with the very essence of its player
No not just notes on a page we read
Notes we convey into finger articulation
And pressing down those damn strings
Until our fingers bled
And we kept our nails short
While our friends went out
And got manicures
Because we feared for our playing ability
We couldn't wait for school to end
So practice would begin
Spending all day rehearsals in anticipation
For the curtain to drop
But it would be no different
Than by ourselves
In our rooms where
We found the only escape
Through that tiny savior
We called an instrument

It's true no words could show
The overwhelming pride
We felt swell our hearts
When I glided that bow
In the finale solo piece
And we could find a better high
In four taught strings
Than any synthetic drug
Because this drug was music
Something completely our own
And so captivating and emotional
And euphoric
God it was the only sense of sanity I felt
Yes the strings echoed my own voice
I could never speak
Through the universal language of music
I uncoiled from my string and found my own
Sense of belonging
As that rental violin
I had cracks in me
But I was still capable
Of producing a beautiful harmony