The Violen

The Violin

I ventured into the well-known room
I’d search and take in every precious sight
I do this quite often
It’s so hard to let go
Nothing should be different, but this time it is so.

His violin is missing
I don’t understand
He’d practice and practice
Time and time again
His passion was this instrument, his love was so deep.

I don’t know where it could’ve gone
I kept this room locked with a key
Who would’ve trespassed and violated my memory?
My son’s bedroom is now vacant and dark
A mistaken disappearance, this was not.

The violins age was no more than half a dozen
Though it’s wood was fading and the strings were loose
It played more sour notes than good ones
Yet, that was of no consequence to those listening ears
For the violins music was once the smile on his gentle face

His disappearance was dreadful
My memories turn vague
All I know is his room
His things
His violin

He was taken from me
So hasty and harsh
Who could be so selfish?
As to steal away my precious boy
I gave up everything for him, and now he’s not here

I miss his smiles
I long to give him love
I miss his music
I long to embrace him
Why is he gone?

The closest thing to my son
The object that was his love
Now missing is it
I have lost both
What is there left to grieve for?

Neither will I ever find
One’s been gone for years two
One, for a mere day
I will never love another boy
He was mine and the instrument was his.