My Violin

January 23, 2012
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Concentration, an alizarin crimson violin in which I hold sturdy.
My body moves with passion, my muscles are relaxed.
I envision myself as Mozart;
My presence beams with aggression.
The Stradivarius sings, its melodies reverberate through my veins.
The stage is dimly lit, the crowd is silent.
I tune my instrument with ease.
The concerto is ready to commence, my fingers take place.
The strums create a euphonic aura amidst the spectators.
The sound echoes from person to person; swiftly, silently.
My violin works on its own,
the love for the music flows in indescribable measures.
I begin to decrescendo; the song comes to an end.
I stand up, take a bow, and the lights go off.
“It’s time for bed.” my mother said.
Until we meet again, my lovely violin.
But for now, it’s simply goodnight.

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