There plays a violin―
Its' mirthful tune wraps the audience,
In merry moods and strong booze,
Heavy claps, and it renews,
Their mundane everyday.
There plays a violin―
A classical piece flaunts its' master's skill,
Judged under scrutiny, sheer silence,
Awed at the excellence, the cadence,
They closely listen.
There plays a violin―
In the lonely room of a young gentleman,
A faint ballad, full of mistakes,
His strings cry, as his hand shakes,
"I did better today."
There played a violin―
Its' melancholy notes covered in dust,
Under a wreck, a building ablaze,
Frightening cries of children in daze,
The men that once drank,
To merry sounds of music,
Now play their rifles.
---∆---
Poet's note:
I was intending to keep these poems personal and grounded, but somehow this poem stirred up. The horrors of war are obviously known to many, but as a poet I tend to emphasize it in poetic devices.
If you do like my poems, please support me :)
