My Old Friend My Violin

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The relationship between a person and their instrument.

Submitted: October 09, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 09, 2012




My old friend… my Violin


Choose me until it sang with my inner thoughts, visualizing myself in playing of engaging music.

Imagination sprung into mind, knowing a Friendship Created.

Till Life’s end we part, now sharing thoughts, as one, music flowing gently from mind to note.

Nothing else can take your Place.


My old friend … my Violin.


Made of spruce and maple, and of my age, an object of Beauty, a Soul of style of life like-feeling.

Near Time to show my Joy in life.


My old friend… my Violin.


Rosin, crucial for creating vivid sound, the mouth of my dear old friend.

A hundred and fifty count of horse hair, pulling bow across strings of down bow position.

Fingers of left hand to help my friend make a tune, with certain limits of Only one note.

Your body supported by my shoulder and firm by my soft chin, a dark and sonorous start of my piece the G string to D and A and finally E.

Music flowing so gently, fingers twitching ever so often, not a sound in the theatre... Except.


My old friend… my Violin.


No Being to dare interrupt our solo, music coming out of your sweet sound voice.

Listening while playing, with a Feeling in my head, how strong our Bond, Inside of Us.

Sending out into world, only by Us.


My old friend… my Violin


The moments of Pizzicato from Piano to Forte.

Feeling imagination streak through my mind…no one around us… no one to dare Try.

The sensation of your bow as smooth as silk, mirroring the soul by me to you.

You and I, never apart, an Unbreakable bond of energy between us … is what I wished to last.

Till the final note being played from up bow, the bond breaking us apart is silence all around us. The look on every face, then a surge of applause fills our aching hearts.

I Owe it all to you


My Old friend …. my Only friend… my Own violin.




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