Notes of Daylight

Never was there an image so lovely
A sound as sweet

As the musician of death

Filling the frigid, falling winter night with the song of the dead
Features veiled; a mere silhouette

Ironic how something so very beautiful;
So mesmerizingly pure; nearly feminine

Could birth from such a beast

Insane and broken you’d almost pity him

As you’d pity the souls strung to his violin

For human hair
Produces such a sound
Which is far more euphonious than that of any
Horse

Something about the music that made you cry
Cried itself.
Each note a silver tear

Flooding the darkness;
Kissing the moon
It wept

Never had a nocturnal being desired the light

Or the sky;
Blue not black

Her hair
Flaming locks of fire
She was the sun

The morning in his violin
It wept
Notes
Of Daylight