The Violinist

As he laid his head on her cold shoulder
She ran her finger tips across his neck.
She searched for a pulse, as he grew colder
And waited – until he was no longer awake.

She then took out her lean long blade
And ran it slowly over his apple’s end;
A loud shriek, which slowly, started to fade
MUSIC! to which ears, no one would lend.

Another stroke, another scream, clearer this time
Slowly increasing with each stroke she made
A stronger feel, a smoother flow, a better rhyme
And with each pull, the “strings” grew bloody red

With each note she played, he grew colder still
Oh! Such beautiful screams, there never be.
She played until a pulse she could no longer feel
Their love ending in perfect poetic melody

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2 comments

  1. Wow…what an intriguing poem…loved it.

Its nice to share what you think of what you read

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