"Partita" by Jorge Biaggi '19

​String!
Oh string!
I’ll dash thee again!
Across the old chords of this instrum.

A song!
Yes a song!
I’ll command thee to play!
As I flash a staccato in quick turn.

Come scratched notes of disgruntled music-making,
Shocks resonate through the ear.
A nasty cough of interrupted rhythm
Now blows through the air, harsh and sheer.

I scratch at my bow with a violent hatred,
“Nary a cheer shall you meet!”
With disgust in my mind I begin yet again.
“Once more, from the top of the sheet!”

So I cry out in pain as the hours drag on,
No care for the blood on my fingers.
“I’ll practice and practice ‘til it kills me!” I say,
As one small, burning question still lingers.

Is it worth it, really worth it to continue this torture?
Must I slice up my hand with this bowstring?
Is it smart to go on, must I finish this song?
While my cracked spirit does nothing but sting?

Then silence overcame,
Flush in some violent pain,
As it hurt right then more than ever.

I’ll never be good.
I’ll never be good.
And that was the end of that venture.