A bow across strings,
Crying out the unspoken,
Lines of lost desire.
The melody is a ghost,
Of the boy who walked away.

Her voice soft and low,
Reading verses of his name,
Now another’s prize.
Each vibrato is a sigh,
For the hand she cannot hold.

Poetry and wood,
Bleeding out the bitter truth,
In a minor key.
She translates her broken heart,
Into songs he’ll never hear.

Paul Baldry (LongJohn)

A violin mourns what the heart cannot say, each trembling note tracing the shape of a love lost, as her quiet voice turns memory into music he will never hear. Memories of teen years, they could be harsh.