The mistake cut too deep. Chords broken and snapped.
What is broken cannot be repaired.
Melancholy has no cure.
In the parallels, none of this has existed
And yet, it all came before
Same mistakes, same regrets
Yet you go on.
You go on.
Can anything remedy taking a life?
Even one’s own?
Without death, just continued suffering
Worse than death life is such
The music of life, it hurts me
It pains my soul, it calls to my heart
It won’t let me be free
A cello, whole, unbroken
Sweet rapturous melody, singing and calling
Its melancholy song
Pulling tears from the deepest part of
Who I am
For it lies in the dust, discarded
Yes, those strings broken and frayed
Symphonic becomes child’s thunderous banging
And life begins again
All mistakes recalled and brought to surface
The song screams, life screams
High pitched and truculent
Slowing to transcendence
Perhaps I am free, and only kept in bondage
By my own solicitous mind.
When the cello stops its song
2015 copyright Regina J McMurray
There is fiction. There is life. What is the difference?
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