Tugging at chords, writing verses.
We refrained and repeated,
arranged and rearranged.
We wrote accidentals on purpose,
a constant changing of keys.

Fine tuning each other,
playing in perfect pitch. Bars every
few beats drawn and erased—
finding when best to take a breath.

Isn’t it ironic, strings plucked on stage
All I hear is discord and chaos,
missing melodies that mend.

So we wrote symphonies, you and I,
mastering the music. Those secret

songs ravaged reality, crafting a
perfect world between only our fingers. 

And finishing with the perfect cadence,
we played a sequence of chords.

Not repeating this time— a clean cutoff.
Stilled strings and silent voices.

About Laura

marketing director at Possible. formerly at Greatist. Still running, finding zen, and searching for the perfect bloody mary.

Posted on November 28, 2011, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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