Hey-o, Word-wielders,
Today's featured poem is violin, a piece by Emily Brown using synesthesia to describe what's happening. (Synesthesia, by the way, is, according to Google: a phenomenon that causes sensory crossovers, such as tasting colors or feeling sounds. Some people describe it as having “wires crossed” in their brain because it activates two or more senses when there's only a reason for one sense to activate. I actually have a form of this.)
Anyway, onto the poem.
tune your violin, slice through
the shivering air
with statuesque-cold stance, leaden toes
magneted to the ground.
silence, heavy as a broken heart, reverberates.
the walls cry, stone tears
to fill the void.
and then you play.
this gold-coated sound, this
honey-cloaked song
this sweet cinnamon smell of pure music
dances around us;
it taunts us with pixie fingers that
ride every note.
the lilt of a perfect sunrise, or
the running, running, running of a crisp wind
against the windows of our imagination.
never let it end, a thousand heartbeats cry out.
never let it disappear. the emptiness
is too full for us.
but in the ending-
the haze that settles over us-
there is no sound. no song.
only a thousand tear-filled moments.
then the quiet is bruised
black and blue, a thousand pairs of hands
thundering, striking like lightning, white
and fierce.
the song has ended.
the echo remains.
Bio: Emily Brown is a young author, poet and singer/songwriter from Queensland, Australia. She loves the complexity of the English language, and can be found in Write the World Review, Pure in Heart Stories, and Voyage of Verse Anthology. She can also be found on YouTube, where she hopes to glorify God with her music under the stage name Emmi Byrd.
May you live for Christ and give Him praise
~Claira
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