One Hundred Violins
The morning cracked wide open and we couldn’t stop it if we tried,
As the jealous sun pushed through the frame to pry open our eyes,
He saw it draped across me but he couldn’t take the truth,
That from that day on my orbit was focussed only around you.
We’d drank each drop of darkness until he dared to show his face,
Our broken smiles, stretched out for miles,
Twinned and rich with smoke and wine,
I remember only laughter,
And the stray of your hand to mine,
And the sound of one hundred violins,
Singing me to sleep that night.
The world began to shrink and we wouldn’t change it if we could,
As plates waged war beneath and made an island of where we stood,
We shed our tired skins and lay them ‘cross our vagrant hearts,
And burnt them down to craft from ash the means to make our start.
So we pitched our plot and left behind the histories we’d outgrown;
The scattered blame, the open graves,
To share our marks and brave mistakes,
And forge a home of song and stone,
That was ours to build or break,
To the sound of one hundred violins,
Saluting every move we made.
The moon makes her final call and knows we’d do it all again,
Scattering stars and tributes as she settles at our bed,
She holds us close and knows she could have never tamed our waves,
My course was yours and would have roared towards you all the same.
Now we dance beneath the darkness and the heavens she has hung,
From side to side, in black and white,
We flicker faint as candle light,
And though our bones move stiff and slow,
Our hearts beat sure tonight,
To the sound of one hundred violins,
Serenading us, just one last time.
