The Violinist

 This was inspired on a visit to the 900 year old town of Jelenia Gora, Poland, where a young woman was playing the violin.  The music fit perfectly as the people strolled by the old buildings upon the cobblestone street.  I was easily inspired to see people as how they were, in a time perhaps long before the second war, when people in general strived to be the best of who they were and knew that clarity of sight came through warmth of the heart.  I thanked her for her music saying exactly that, and hope perhaps my words will inspire others to hear her as she hopefully embarks on a career of music.

In an old town,

Upon a street of stone,

With people passing by,

I heard the music in the air,

Carrying birds upon the breeze,

Surrounding the buildings,

Lifting my heart into the sky,

The music played for me,

The reason I was there.

From a simple violin,

In a young woman’s hand,

It came into our world,

Not from the instrument,

But through it like a door,

From her heart and something more,

As time drew further away,

And timelessness ruled,

While she played.

It was just a street,

Where soliders once marched,

Where children now played,

As families walked on,

And friends would talk,

And visit stores,

A common sight,

Upon many shores,

Which faded from my eyes.

Under the clouds,

The people changed,

To what had once been,

All were dressed,

Within their best,

Not to show prestige,

Just pride in who they are,

With everything they do,

Their best for the best.

The music spoke,

Of memories,

Of who we all have been,

Warmth of heart shared,

For we share life and death,

We share pain and joy together,

For the heart lives not in silence,

Speaking truth within a song,

Which never truly ends.

And so I stepped,

Back through the mists,

And into my own time,

Not forgetting those before,

How that affects who I am,

Amidst the seas of time,

Thankful to the violinist,

So the music may stir memories,

In the song that we all share.