postcurtainfall (postcurtainfall) wrote in intouchi,

  • Mood:
  • Music:

its late

The violin player looks for the cue

each sweep, of the bow fires and explains

sweet days of autumn rain;

beautiful, and so full of pain.

whispering shadows while the bow caresses again

stories of a place in a flutter of an eyelash

where the birds have gone away

and he loves the bare, and silent trees

and the sip of tears in the mist

loving the sorrow song in the wolves

the audiance applauds

and story end,

they returned form the sodden trail made in the earth

around the thick sky

and back from the truth, or is it to?

only one knew that the audiance

had no ear for that secrets he had hidden there

in the death of that November day
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