Violin With No Strings Attached

June 3, 2018

And then,

I worry of the present offer, seemingly too good to be


true as when it was long ago shiny, new. We remember

the strings and whirlwinds of instruments we once were. 

The music, now as we silently cry. Outside, the winter

world and its storms may spin. Drumbeating rain may go


distant and distal. And all that is left, the world, or worms.


And then, silence, no resonance, the end. Ever still,

I touch the neck, the fingerboard, open the ear and yes, 

I shall hold on to my hope, this friend, this wooden grain,

deep enclosed space where by His stripes we are healed.


And then

my soul, its sound may forever begin again with no end.  


Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Please reload


June 30, 2019

June 29, 2019

June 27, 2019

June 26, 2019

Please reload