May 26, 2010
By Anonymous

Sitting alone. . .
The solitary atmosphere seeming to cave in,
Onto the desk, the light shines like an early sun
A silent beauty known only to those who listen.
The notes of an unborn masterpiece ripple like water
Across a page of simple white
The impatience fighting under the worker’s concentration
. . . Until finally, the last sound is put in his place.

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