I wrote this poem and several others that I have posted today (June 26, 2005) about 2-3 years ago, when I was 16.
As the conductor’s hand
Slows in its rhythmic progress
And the brass sound of business
Dark stringed conflict
And the everpressing percussion
Fade to nothing
Only the lone violin
Of impossible goodbyes
Has the strength to
Stand at the precipice
Gaping into the unknown
Playing its melancholy
Bittersweet and ironically
Hopeful harmony
The sweet song of uncertainty
Turns its tune over in my heart
This time changed from
Any time before
It rides on the wings of
Surefooted love into
The deep red of the setting sun.
Whitney 14 April 2003
