I am cursed and so is my love
We are both bound:
I to my convictions and she...
She is bound up with string, covered in ink
She is creased and torn and ripped apart
and thrown at the wall in frustration
or put away on the shelf and forgotten for months at a time.
I offer her nothing of substance
No warmth, no kisses, hardly even a sigh
I make love to her only with this pen
Our expressions of love are written uniformly on lines
Arranged in phrases she has heard many times before.
I am a bore to her.
The same sad cello music loops endlessly through the air
Hoping to put a new word to the page
but it never comes
I slump over at her side, she rolls over
the sheets in between us grow cold.
Where is the passion of our youth
When the words flowed like milk and honey?
When my phrases were new and exciting to her?
I make love to her only with this pen
And suddenly the ink has run dry
She's gone by morning
But the rising Sun casts her shadows all about the room
She lingers
She remains
~
Inspired by Cello Sonata No. 1 in E minor, Op. 38:1 Allegro Non Troppo by Johannes Brahms
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Strings: A Collection of Crescendos
PoetryShort poems, prose and moments of life written to the tune of several pieces of classical music. Some are somber, some are hopeful but all of them bring to life the beauty and vibrance of the music that inspired them. This series of poems and short...
