The audience watches attentively
as the violinist stands from his seat,
positions his instrument tenderly,
and the music is born, suddenly, like a leap
into glorious beauty, worthy of heaven.
The melody travels through the theater�s still air.
No other sound can be heard in the darkness,
as everyone gazes at the young violinist, fair
and wise beyond his years, yet ageless
as the chosen object of a muse�s affections.
And the poetess, inspired, cries silently in her seat
from overwhelming emotions: joy, desire, passion, and love....
Perhaps even envy before such talent causes her to weep,
or perhaps the beauty is too much to bear, as though from above,
directly from heaven unto her adoring ears and unto her secret.
Alas! The poetess loves music as her own life,
and the beautiful sounds filling the air she has heard before,
once, long ago, as she saw the muse�s favorite thrive
caressing her passionately with melodies she needed daily henceforth,
all the endless, true beauty leaving her speechless for the first time.
Copyright �2004 Surey Rodr�guez