Hanging

I hear

not one clipped violin

what was he thinking, I wonder

was his heart broken

into splintered mountains

of God’s hands

tired and weary, yet

guiding

shoving

leading

affirming

breaking

ending in a minor

stunned chord

hanging

we are hanging

and left questioning

forever.

August 25, 2017 Meldrum Poetry ~ prompt: Samuel Barber’s Adagio, 1936. Photograph by KatrineDunnPhotography of Ian Gray Hazzard, Age 16.