The Unloved Poet.

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The raised violin bow lowered and caressed the strings,
Fingers moved and sounds waved through the blessed air,
Closed eyes saw colors filling in the image of a dream unseen,
When eyes opened I saw the talent and beauty of Anastasiya.
Her image brought to mind many thoughts new, old and I wrote,

When in my younger days through cityscapes I roamed,
Someone familiar of my actions and thoughts asked,
“What is it a poetic mind search,
In these busy chaos of a city?”
With a naughty smile, I replied,
“Elegance that sprouts a spring of verses.”.
In the many decades that followed, I found,
One or two to sprout out a spring of verses,
And on this day I add another,
The elegance of beauty and music of a genius.

Mind like a battered ship in sea rocked up and down,
Music gave me more thoughts and colored many dreams,
The musician though with prettiness filled faded from mind,
As shining bright to mind came my Little Boss twitching love.

A thought stormed into my mind about the pretty violinist,
Why such beauty and talent who sprouted a spring of verses fade,
And no love for her in the depths of soul felt nor heart twitched,
The poet loves the music, respects beauty but not the musician.

Another thought broke out of storm and like a lightning landed,
Why read poems about the one I love I wrote and don’t love,
The poet who wrote draining his life through his loving heart,
Maybe she loves the poetry in joy and doesn’t love the poet.

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