PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

He stood in the ward and raised his bow,

Then he softly touched the strings.

Turning,all the aged stared at him

And their eyes were dim-lit halls.

As the music slowly swelled

So the hallways glowed,and led

To many things well loved.

The dark was gone,with it,age.

Under a rekindled sun

Long dead children laughed and played.



On the rising,singing bow

Gardens bloomed,and woodland tossed

By a clean and sanded sea,

Down to shores where the wind washed.



Under the touch of enchanted chords

Ballrooms gleamed.On powdered floors

Forgotten bands played remembered tunes.

Beaus cajoled while girls checked cards.

Mothers,fathers,lovers,friends,

Joining hands for Old Lang Syne,

Held out their arms,kissed again...

As the music sobbed,died,

Faded down the darkening halls.



Through the silent peopled room

Crept a timid,wistful sigh.

They go back to the waiting

Where the young bring their old to die.