Cyprian Van Dyke

The Violin (the personification)

Her hair is back,

Her face is full;

Like the moon in the sky.

Her dress is beautiful,

Like an NYC building at night.


She comes from a tree,

The same one as the violin.

See the color of her skin,

Hear the sound of her accent.


In front of her, I sit like, Columbus,

Looking for the edge of the earth;  

To turn the page,

To change the world.


At the edge of the earth,

She stands in the upper right corner.

The pages run down to the seabed.

Even she can’t turn the wave over.  


Two chairs are free.

On the table, a candle  

Has been set aflame.


She stands by

An arrow on the wall.

I stand on the other side,

In hopes of being her beau,

Of which, cupid has no hold.


Her hair is,

Soft as the wind,

Straight as the strings

Of a violin.

Her lips are like bows.

She makes her cords talk

Like a pro.  


How can I ask her out

If I’m shaking so?

My voice and words

Sound like a storm,

Compared to hers.


I’ve made it to the edge  

Of the world, and

What have I come back

To show?

But the most beautiful damsel.

End April 18-19/2017