The Violinist
The violinist beleaguered look
Yearning richly in the canvass book
Foreboding and sadly reaching
His shadowed soul is the stroke of solitude
From this obscure limbo he lives in me
Emerged and lonely in stratospheric harmony
Ecstasy is the inadequate dialect
He gives thoughts of creative synergy
From this empiricist mentality
His nose, shaped like a cockle shell in reality
Eyes spoke to me in an endless stream of energy
Saying “ I’m the resurrected man loving thee”
Eternal love is in each breathe we share
Quietude became retrospective analogy
Piercing the excitement of his charismatic aura
Gave my destiny wings in the violinist stokes
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