Tuesday, February 21, 2012

The Old Musician

Chin the violin,
lift the bow --
spin the stories
you keep safe within them
for everyone in earshot.
Mark with pleasure
each brighter eye and
lighter spirit,
more reward to you
than any coin
cast in your direction.

Why do we seem to have
only two dimensions around you --
you, who have so many more?
We must be waiting
for each air to bless us
with some greater depth
from your own.

I wish you were my father --
if you could only have drawn
forth the music in me,
sent me out into the world
on your song.
And in the dark, knowing calm
of your easy eyes,
I might have danced
instead of faltered,
poured out like sunshine
in joyful refrain.

1 comment:

nyssa said...

love love love.. this poem, these words and you.. LOVE!!! xoxoxoox ( always was my fav)