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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=530733" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Subway Musician</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I saw her sitting in the subway<br>Next to a column<br>Wall-papered with advertisements.<br>She held an acoustic guitar, <br>And brushed her fingers against <br>The phosphor bronze strings, <br>And each note she plucked<br>Wrung clearly as a silver bell, <br>Or like one in a cathedral tower.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She sang her song to the spaces<br>Between the people<br>As they walked around her, <br>Deafened by their own busy lives<br>And the footsteps, <br>The conversations<br>Of others.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She was unaccompanied.<br>There was no drum beat, <br>Only the soft tapping thump of her heart—<br>Beating, beating, beating<br>Slow into the emptiness<br>Of the crowd consuming her.<br>It coupled with the clattering polyrhythms<br>The train created as it shook the track<br>Beneath its wheels, <br>All the while muffling her voice<br>As she tried to sing above it, <br>As she tried to strain her expression, <br>So it may be heard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I saw her.<br>I watched her sing for someone that doesn't exist.<br>Someone that isn't real to anyone, <br>Except for her, <br>Though she knows she's lying to herself.<br>The aching breaks in her heart<br>Crack her voice in a way that the pain<br>Resonates from her chest, <br>Filling mine with a swell of longing.<br>At that moment, <br>That swell feels like a soul to me, <br>And I wish—<br>Oh, I wish—<br>She were singing to me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She seems to know this feeling<br>That can't be explained in words, <br>That can't be articulated in sound, <br>That can't be understood<br>Until on feels it.<br>She seems to know how I am listening, <br>Lost inside the spell<br>Of her magic melodies, <br>And I would dream to harmonize<br>With the intimate tones<br>That she releases with passion, <br>But, the same as her, <br>I'm only writing my song, <br>And singing it here, <br>For someone who doesn't exist—<br>Not to anyone, <br>But me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Tim+Stensloff">Tim Stensloff</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=530733" data-title="Subway Musician de Tim Stensloff" data-description="I saw her sitting in the subway
Next to a column
Wall-papered with advertisements.
She held an acoustic guitar, 
And brushed her fingers against 
The phosphor bronze strings, 
And each note she plucked
Wrung clearly as a silver bell, 
Or like one ..."></div>
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