A Bitter Sweet Poetry Book

Sonnet

The Zone

All the world in one place, mine is forever.

My hand on my bow and fingers flying 

over the wood and increasing pressure,

the sound projecting and producing the 

tone worth a battle, worthy of lovely

life, the sweet and rich combination of 

life. Reality from reality, 

my Zone I enter in blurry space - swell

with pride, in color, shaped from clay, causing

me to become emotionally ill ... 

to moan bitterly and sweetly. Patterns 

thrive in the bow; production of the sound.

My fingers grow with pure intensity.

I am the stringed instrument. No strict bounds

to anything but my cello and me.