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The Lonely Violinist

A man stands on the corner, forlorn,
With his only friend, inanimate yet living.
Passers by sneer at him with scorn:
Merciless, pitiless, unforgiving.

His fingers have gone numb,
His arms have worn with strain,
And should tomorrow come,
It will only amplify the pain.

His heart is a dark void:
Empty, frozen and alone.
His hopes are shattered and destroyed,
And his coldness seeps to the bone.

His companion quietly hums
As he tearlessly cries out his soul,
And before he agonizingly succumbs
He lets go and loses control.

His fingers fly violently,
His heart becomes the bow,
Resisting vanishing silently
His music beckons you to know -

A man stands on a corner, forlorn,
With a simple instrument, fierily alive.
His troubled soul seeks to be reborn
But only his lost friends can help him survive.

-Ari Gilder 11/10/02

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