Harsh and tearing winds,
She tries to smile through the pain,
Raindrops like diamond knives,
She tries to fiddle in the rain.
Her bow is slick with water,
Her fiddle scarred with hail,
Her notes are drowned by lightning,
That tears across the gale.
She yells defiance at the clouds,
Runs her bow on sodden strings,
Pushes harder to be heard,
As the hurricane cries and screams.
She battles force of dark remembrance,
And her music is her sword,
She’s driving out her demons,
With every furious chord.
At last the night creeps in,
Her fiddle clatters to the street,
But she rests now with satisfaction,
To watch the storm retreat.
-SilentSymphonies
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I feel that we can better understand literature if we understand the person who created it. so a little bit about myself: I like fog in the morning and thunder while i fall asleep. I’m happy to be caught in the rain whilst walking home with my music just a little bit too loud. I’m an extrovert who likes to be left alone, and when the house is empty I sing as loud as I can. I play the piano, but never what my teacher assigns. I like long road trips and rainy days. I am a night owl, and i only sleep about three hours a night, but it never bothers me. I have only ever read one book that I didn’t like. Little things make me happy, and there are lots of little things in the world, so I’m almost always happy.
well, 2 poems, really…fiddling in the rain is excellent, old soul
Thank you very much! So funny how common conversation can suddenly begin to dance into poetry.