It's Still Life

The Architecture of a Moment

Why the Cello Weeps (long form)

Why a bow draws
not a note,
but a breath hauled
from a deeper lung
than mine?

Why the strings’ vibration
feels like the slow fracture
of a continent?

This is the sound
of memory
wearing its own shadow.
A grounded, human cry
from a voice that walks
its ruins,
its empty halls.

It stands at the world’s edge
without despair.
It is recognition.

Not a lament for loss,
but the unflinching acquaintance
with loss itself.

The beauty of a scar
that remembers
the sharpness
of the blade.

The cry is not the question.
The cry
is the answer …
a long, low, settling note
that says:

To be this broken
is to be this whole.
To feel this deeply
is to be alive.

The Architecture of Why the Cello Weeps (Anglo-Saxon Accentual Verse – Marilyn’s Variant)

Why does the bow
breathe from the bone,
hauling a heartbeat
hollow and deep?

Why do the strings
split continents,
cracking old coastlines
under the skin?

Memory moves
in shadowed halls,
a human cry
carved out of ruin.

It stands unshaken
at the world’s edge,
not in despair
but knowing loss.

Scars remember
the bite of the blade;
their quiet beauty
bears the truth.

The cry is answer.
One long note,
a low-lit vow
that pain is life.

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Written for Writers’ Digest Poem-a-Day Challenge — the poem title starts with the word “Why”. AI Image alt text: An old wooden cello leaning against a softly blurred brick wall, warm light falling from the left and casting a faint shadow to the right. Poems/prose, some AI/images ©Misky 2006-2025.