Melody of the Soul

Writing is like music

But the author plays the soul.

Each sentence is a measure,

Each syllable a note.

She plucks at heartstrings

Using letters in ink.

She can make you feel anything

As the piece swells and sinks.

With every crescendo,

Your pulse will race.

Every pause,

Each space,

Will be like a drop

Off the face of the earth.

And each moment without her words

You will question life’s worth.

The melody she creates

Can be compared to none before:

The sweetest thing you’ve ever heard,

But inflicts a pain you can’t ignore.

It throbs,

It moves,

It breathes,

It lives in you

For as long as you read.

And even when you put the words

To rest,

This being will hide

In the recesses of your chest

Until it is woken

Once again,

And then,

Will roar to life once more.

So when an author dies,

Her life will never be forgotten,

So long as there are people

To rouse the melody again.