The return of polished silver
long forgotten over the years
now free of finger stains
though marred by scars of regretful mistakes
Like its many predecessors
sitting still, displaying their many wounds
from battles hard fought and won
now proudly poised in silent dignity
The cold metal gleams from my hands
warming with a breath of life. The nightingale rings out
across its enraptured audience
softly caressing the ears of the sleeping lover
Whispers linger in the silence left
from the passionate tempest under blackened satin
fingers caress the hollowed tube of
harmonious melodies released from golden lips
Slowly drift off on velvet cushions, shut the light
softly cradled till the next encore.



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