The Violin This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

March 14, 2011
As I ponder the vacant night,
I dream of birds, I hope for flight.
And as the dreary dark drags on,
the violin will weep it's song.

Each sweet note like a sparrow flies,
higher above the earth they rise.
Each perfect note in it's perfect place,
my body entranced by the beauty and grace.

Separate yet whole, a sugar sweet sigh,
droplets fall as the angels cry.
Who knows to what cage this path may lead,
but for my music, I will bleed.

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