The Violinist

Fingers moving to fragments of chords,

he tries to connect to sounds in his head,

but buried in sand, notes slip through his hands,

and the roar of the sea takes over.

Fingers strumming invisible strings,

he can’t understand what they’re doing.

His fingertips sense a tune he can’t hear,

and the naked silence takes over.

They’ve taken away his old bow today

saying he no longer needs it -

but they can’t hear the storm in his ears

as the rage inside him takes over.