The hum of the strings
The violin in the crook of my arm
Hand poised
Preparing for the start
For the seed
The seed that plants the garden
The unfurling rose
Growing with the crescendo
It's elegance
Drooping in the vibrato
Petals
Reaching out
Touching the strings
With my dew
Dropped
Fingers
Dancing with blood
As red as blood
The expression
Pouring out
A garden of feeling
Each note
A rose
Teasing you with legato
As piano to forte
The seasons change
The world shifts
At the slight of the bow
Blooming roses
Touching your cheeks
Creasing with petals
Soft and smooth
Each note a feather like touch
To your soul
Your heart
Your eyes
Your ears
Leaves
Soft and green
Prickly
But not thorny
Sharp like a bows tip
Growing
and growing
Until the gardens a jungle
A beautiful mesh of sounds
And notes
All twisted together
Overlapping
A complex arrangement of twists and turns
Fitting together perfectly, the violin
Then ice and snow
Hard and dark
Neglectful.
Flowers bleeding in the white
Blanket
Of death
The garden dies
One misstep one note
The tables turn and it's quiet
Deadly
The silence
The pause after the storm
The garden
Dying
Overwhelmed in a drowning sea
Of sadness and despair
Killing softly with each minute
Then rain
Hard and soft
Like pizzicato
Each drop
Reviving the music
With the practice
Of many
Many
Generations
Slowing growing
Coming back to life
The energy
The sun
Like golden rosin
Not the bow
That will revive the music back to life
Swirling and twirling, perfecting
Till the music rings out loud and clear
Till the roses bloom once more
And the seed
Is uncovered from the ashes of neglect.
