The Cellist

I am walking through a forest

There is a Cellist

Somewhere playing

Deep notes

Shrouded in a tangle of branches

It sounds like Autumn

 

The notes burst out in colour

Burning so bright and itense

Various shades of

Red, yellow, purple, black, orange and brown

They fly into the souls of leaves

 

The leaves in the forest

Posessed, transformed

Follow the Cellist’s lead

They drop to my height

All at once

I am caught in a flurry of leaves

 

 

I dance in them for how long  I do not know

 

 

The Cellist switches to high notes

The leaves obey

Lifting upwards

Swirling above my head

The sky

Blocked out by leaves

The sun shines through them

Producing art

I have no other words

 

The cellist plays the end of his piece

The leaves fall with a giant

Thud

To the ground

 

 

 

Author: Jack Bennett

Born and raised in Torquay, England. 21 years old. Teeming with thoughts that need an outlet, working a full time job at his local supermarket. Unfortunately born a poet, he will most likely suffer from this contradiction most of his life.

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