The Black Violin and the Muse

Years ago, when the war took my life in cold bloodshed and explosion, I wander endlessly through the city of bones, constantly in search of that sweet music that my lover plays.
Sitting on the stump at night, he sits in silence as people walk by, the only noise from him they hear is the music and song from her dark violin of despair.
Even with his lover now gone, how he wishes to hear the sound of her voice. Damn the war for stealing his lover and hearing.
I see him sitting by my grave alone, he plays with great sorrow, that fills my heart with such anguish. How I long to hold my dearly beloved in my arms!
He continues to sit there all alone wishing for his lover's name off this stone. He plays all through the night, their lullaby from home.
Like sweet nectar brought to life, I sit by his side, my head resting peacefully against his shoulder. For his presence is more than enough, he may never hear me sing the words to our lullaby, but the night shall be our child.
Tears flood down his face like a river and continues to play their sweet lullaby to the people who watch him night after night.
I watch him grow old before my eyes.
He returns to me every night dressed in his uniform and brings back my violin. He is handsome, but despair has taken those years of youth away from him. He never married nor had children to bear his name yet, he comes to me- his ghostly muse.
In sleepness he dies with his body buried by his lover's grave. Their dark violin between them, like a child held in the arms of her parents. Still in the midnight hours, you can still hear their sweet lullaby in the city of bones.
Blissful death, how you granted me my dying wish, for that I thank you. Now my lover and I dance to the music we longed to play together. At last, he may now hear the sound of my voice.