These Are My JOTtings...

Waiting to Be Seen

Waiting.
Watching.
Hoping.
Praying.

You now shine
in the light,
glorious to be seen.

Shadowy pew,
I peer out to see
his hands stroke your hair,
"making beautiful music"
So overused,
but still
how true!

A single tear
paints a river
across my cheek.

Do they know?
Do I exist to them?
Does anyone care?

Dear Lady, do you remember?
Do you remember the hours,
the hours of nearness,
the hours I've spent
tenderly stroking each note of joy?

I know your sinews,
the melodies in every fiber of your being,
the musky scents in your hair.

I've traced your curves,
so firm,
so resonant
with chords of joy,
with exaltation beyond compare,
with sweetness in every stroke by my hand.

Now another shares the moonlight with you
to the applause of the night,
to the blinking of the fireflies,
to the bowing symphony of crickets, cicadas, and whippoorwills.

My touch was not enough.
I held my breath to meet your need.
My skills show a lack,
finesse has not arrived.
I read.
I practice.
I weep.
I strain.
I hope.
I try.

I wait.

The teacher watches in silence.
"That's not quite right.
Try it again."

He listens for tones of greatest bliss,
but much I have to learn.
"You've come so far.
You're stroking has improved.
"My smile is creeping across my face,
but still, the shadows call."

I wonder will I share the light
in music with my love?
Will tones of joy enhance the night
with honor from Above?

Will stroking hair result in bliss
before a year has passed?
Will firmest curves sound wondrous tones
before I lose the task?

"My brooding student, lift your head.
The key is lighter touch.
"The music comes from aural bed
of firm that's not too much."

"Viola sings for lad and lass
and all, who stroke her well.
"Your faithful practice helps you pass
the test, your song to tell.

"Don't worry,
My Friend.
"Soon you, too,
will share the stage
"and play your song
with viola
"for all the world
to see."

by Jay O'Toole
on May 9th, 2018