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Rated: E · Poetry · Personal · #2169146
A poem from an album. There is much more to come from here.
The bow has been rosined; The violin tuned.
She plays her part, but sad is her heart.
She plays the high-pitched tones, but she feels low.
Yet she doesn't know...

He is in this setting too; 1st chair violist to be exact.
He watches her beauty dance from sweet to intense at the melody.
He plays harmony, only to be dwarfed by her intensity.
When their eyes meet at the end of the piece, she freezes.
He subtlety nods, for not one word shall be spoken by any member of the Group.

He jumps into his solo piece, he arranged especially for her.
It has words, but only her ears have heard them.
For now, she recognizes it as her sorrowful heartache.
He looks so majestic in the moonlit concert hall; playing his viola with an intensity comparable to nothing.
As the song continues, she joins him in the melody, for she knows it by heart.
As he crescendos, she decrescendos and sits back into rest position.
She silently listens to his masterpiece, only she knows it was for her.

The last note, with the fermada, seems to project all of the feelings in the song to the audience, slowly fading into nothing.

Just like that, it is done.
© Copyright 2018 Sebastian Baretoas (artisticnerd at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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