Sorrowfully, they play an orchestra in the coldness of my heart.
In darkness and under the solemn watch of the icy moon, shadows whisper a silent prayer about darkness and night.
Strings tremble between fingers as spirits begging for light.
Their echo a bittersweet, ethereal flight in the hushed dark.
As they play they pour their souls into the bitter fray,
Tearful souls strum away, let sounds wash the pain away.
Let all heavenly bodies harmonise with you till night fades.
They dance and sing and gather around, anything to cope.
In the early morning light, a quiet whisper: a new hope.
With each resonant note in life’s canvas sprays a vivid streak.
We may fail but the songs we sing reverberate in the echoes of existence.
Blakeney-Rose Berry 