When Violins Cry

In the silence only violins are sounding on, cold smoke stayed in my palm, now gone. Wounds in the heart are playing their song, until the night bows down to them for long. When violins cry, the pain is moving on, slowly leaving, fading till it’s gone. Tears are running down the cheek, so clear, and reconciliation quietly comes near. When violins cry, even pain breathes low, it´s quieter and softer in its flow. Sorrow is sighing with a lighter sigh, looking relief straight in its eye. On the table lies a letter no one needs to read, left unopened, silent in its need. Time didn’t stop; it keeps running still, as if it understood nothing, nor ever will. When violins cry, the pain is moving on, slowly leaving, fading till it’s gone. Tears are running down the cheek, so clear, and reconciliation quietly comes near. When violins cry, even pain breathes low, it´s quieter and softer in its flow. Sorrow is sighing with a lighter sigh, looking relief straight in its eye. What still hurts in the evening will ease through the night, fading slowly till it feels all right. What suffocates in the evening must let go by dawn, and by morning it simply has to be gone. When violins cry, the pain is moving on, slowly leaving, fading till it’s gone. Tears are running down the cheek, so clear, and reconciliation quietly comes near. When violins cry, even pain breathes low, its quieter and softer in its flow. Sorrow is sighing with a lighter sigh, looking relief directly in its eye.