Classic Poem

Strike! Oh, strike!
Already the strings of me quiver,
Vibrate,
With the imagining of your fingers. . . .
Strike!
Set free these aching sounds,
Strike harshly, wildly,
Loud —
O strong, beautiful —
Till the strings cry out,
Till the strings are torn with the fierceness of your hands' delight,
With the agony of their own music,
With the agony of their releasing —

Broken —
Still.