Poem, Sagas, Scenic, Short story

The player.

He played into the night air which crept its way into that noble hall. The marble, polished and formed with masterful hands, the satin hung moving only with the softest of breezes which found its way in from outside, that breeze too paying reverence to the sound, daring not to spoil or interfere.

It sang, that with the deepest voice, breaking only for a second to a high pitch note as he drew that bow over the string. Oh I could hum it for the rest of my days, I could feel it in every note that changed, but I see what he made in the sounds which came forth from there.

As two lovers who had grown in age, companions that had been for a lifetime, with hands both joined as they turn slowly around and together they would sway to the sound of that music.

Oh I could hum it for you now if only a hum could give such sweet justice the very glory which my ears were held. No man was a beggar, no lord was of worth in that moment but a sound which danced. And all could see without seeing a thing, just a couple dancing to that serenade.

Oh but how I could hum that sweet tune, that melody that escaped, and found its way out the windows above. Into the night air, the very air which had come in, to investigate the sounds of the song.

Oh how I hum, but my talents are undone, for I write with words and not sounds. But listen very careful, to the words that I write, for within them, the rhythm of song.

 

5 thoughts on “The player.”

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