Sunday, April 7, 2013

Day 7 - Free Write

This one was written under the influence of flu meds and 14 hours of rest and reading Jane Austen.

The Soloist

Lying in bed I
       hear the soloist.

racing and rummaging
through the hollow chambers -
where are they?

Who shows up late
         for a soloists' recital

Where has all decorum gone?

Do they not see -
         see how long I've practiced?

Can they not hear
         the echoing, resonating
         palpable sound of my solo performance?

Where is my symphony?

1 comment:

  1. Love it. So glad you are feeling better and posting again! I've missed your poems.

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