22 | female | uk

Friday, 19 October 2012

Poem: Layla

Words mean nothing, she said aloud, forming the words with her lips, which in turn, meant nothing.
What means anything?
What does anything mean?

Here the strings were plucked,
forming a sound which meant something.
The violin picked out its song and she wept with understanding, her lips agape,
her eyes streaming tears that meant something.

What does she hear? Can she say?
Here she knelt beneath waves of melody, droplets of rhythm speckling the skin unknown,
here, meaning nothing, something, anything,
I mean anything - she sung from her throat, clutching the edge, holding fast the ledge.

Inside her cave the walls shone, they glistened, they shimmered with frost.
Inside her body the violin played, plucking through her veins with a pulse like beating blood.
It sent her to the sea, into nothing, she screamed into nothing, the last sound which meant everything.

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