Our Class

Our Class

Friday, March 30, 2012

Lauren's Poem

A fallen oak.

It’s mahogany wood now a frame, forming

a violin. The bark has been stripped. The

tree is vulnerable, naked.

Easily scratched tarnished and

chipped. The splinters now smoothed,

reveal the wood’s

 unique structure and decor. Where swirls

and licks of natural detail lie in sequences

beneath the varnish.

 A violin whose exterior is

as sensitive and porcelain as its music.

The oak thrives in its emanation

 of forest musk through the hollow f holes.

It thrives in the reverberation of musical soundwaves.

In the tones projecting

from its belly.

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