Tremolo plays as the bow whips across the strings
Back and forth, back and forth
Not slowing, the note continues
Then the staccato comes,
The short notes barely being placed
Before the silence consumes them
As the notes fight to hang on
And the rest in the music won't come
But instead, long vabrato'd notes are heard
Making the music sound better
Making it seem okay
But it's not
But slowly, the slurs come
The vibrato stops
As the high fast notes
Replace it
Unable to continue the vibrato
With the fast pace
All you hear is the music
Right there,
That's all that matters and you're enveloped in slurs
But then the tremolo comes
Unexpected
Crescendo,
Louder! Louder!
It screams
Forte!
There's no decrescendo in sight
No piano, no rest.
Just tremolo.
All you can hear, is tremolo.
YOU ARE READING
From The Pen To The Soul
PoesieSometimes, writing isn't an option; it's a necessity. This is my story. Everything I write, is a part of me. But it's up to you, to find your story; connect to yourself through my writing. (Most of these are sent to my big sister)
