Friday, December 2, 2011

Out of tune

The feeling of irrelevance as sharp

as a tightly wound string.

The distance further denoting

the broken feeling that I have.

The gentle strumming of coiled metal

is strange comfort.

The scrape and scratch

as my fingers slide up the neck.

A sad and lonely melody

a poet’s dying heart.

A grieving echo,

a hollow, chanting refrain.

A wailing voice, cracked and worn

a breathless aching whisper.

Words unwound as feelings connect

into rhythms and patterns of rhyme.

Sing, sing, as if it were all you had left

of a raw and bleeding heart.

My hands as one with wood and steel

the euphony of something real.

My song is yet written the tune yet unnamed

still I play from the depth of my soul.

Fingers blistered and bleeding

as I search to find my voice.

1 comment:

  1. oh, I think you have found your voice. at least to me it is very distinctive and I enjoy it immensely.