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The Fiddler

Updated on March 13, 2011

The Fiddler

He was, after all, an outcast,
born without choice or request.
There was no decision or option
beyond his unbidden bequest.
He knew from quite young he was different
in ways that the dull eye could see
and try, though he did, to impeach it
he held none but a birthright decree.
In his family of birth unaccepted,
he learned to adapt and pretend...
playing their tune on their fiddle
learned to sell his soul to amend.
Until came the day that he'd dreaded
A day that he knew would arrive,
When the fiddle he played could not render
and their tune, could no longer contrive.
With a handful of sorrow, yet empty,
he set out to make his own way...
to purchase his own bow and fiddle
and write his own music to play.
He bought back his soul with his freedom,
shook the dust from his heels and moved on.
With a tear and his fiddle as company,
he played long into the dawn.

"Copyright 2011, All Rights Reserved."


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    • No_Clue profile image

      No_Clue 4 years ago

      BeyondMax, I am ashamed that it has taken me a full 12 months to respond to your comment...please forgive me for that. Thank you, kindly, for your most awesome comment! I hope this finds you well. Blessings!

    • BeyondMax profile image

      BeyondMax 5 years ago from Sydney, Australia

      Such a soulful insightful tale, it takes my breath away...

    • No_Clue profile image

      No_Clue 7 years ago

      It is my fondest delight! Much love!

    • epigramman profile image

      epigramman 7 years ago

      ....whether it be a fiddle - or a violin - just keep on playing and writing for me - my sweet poetic maestro!!!

    • No_Clue profile image

      No_Clue 7 years ago

      thumbs up and thank you, tumblin!

    • tumblintumblweed profile image

      tumblintumblweed 7 years ago

      Well,No_Clue, I guess I can't relate this poem to an instrument,even though I played one! I see it in a different perspective.I relate to the way I had to live my life...according to what everybody wanted me to do,to dance their dance, to play their songs! Then, one day I just left, and went my own way, to dance my my own dance and sing my own songs, and happiness followed! Great job my friend! Up & Beautiful!

    • No_Clue profile image

      No_Clue 7 years ago

      "Merci beaucoup" Mr. Starr!

    • No_Clue profile image

      No_Clue 7 years ago

      thebluestar, thank you, so very much! This is a true tale of sorts, about many, I suspect.

    • WillStarr profile image

      WillStarr 7 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona

      Very nice!

    • thebluestar profile image

      Annette Donaldson 7 years ago from Northern Ireland

      Absolutely beautiful No Clue. I love the connection between man and instrument, possessive and needy. A true partnership. Love the photo's too. Keep em coming girl. Voted up.

    • No_Clue profile image

      No_Clue 7 years ago

      I so love your comment, and you speak true. What a gift! Thanks, CM Castro!

    • CMCastro profile image

      Christina M. Castro 7 years ago from Baltimore,MD USA

      I actually have had a relationship with my guitar. I used to hold it even in my sleep (when I was a child). The instrument when it bears the soul's voice no longer is just a piece of wood with strings upon it. I now have the ability to put "soul" into the songs where a soul needs to be. (King David was a musician and a poet in his Psalms.)

    • No_Clue profile image

      No_Clue 7 years ago

      bbnix, a happy ending to a sad sad tale...leaves this reader with a sense of true strength of character, methinks. I so love your response, and smile that you related. I am glad you are my friend!

    • bbnix profile image

      bbnix 7 years ago from Southern California

      I can't quite understand No_ how you write for me, for I am the family outsider, a lone cast away set free

      Yet I am the humble, learned man quite happy don't you see, for I have a gift of two loves, my wife and son for me.

      I now play a song of true love, of hard earned strength and glee, for those who sought to hate us, are now filled with lonely agony...