There's a dusty guitar
in a dark corner--
it once had a home
in my arms.
I pick it up now,
pluck tired strings
with tired fingers
and formulate chords
with tired eyes.
But my fingers
stumble
and the strings
sing
unpleasant grinds.
And I place
it back down.
There's no room here
in my full,
tired arms.
- - -
This is just a little something I wrote because I'm dissappointed I don't play as much guitar as I used to. There's just not enough time in the day to get everything done that needs to be done. And the sad part is that sometimes the things I love to do the most have to be dropped for the rest of it.
I used to be quite good. Now my fingers slur and the sound isn't quite so crisp.
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I've felt this same thing. I used to play every day, but now I rarely pick up my guitar.
ReplyDeleteBut you can start again. It takes time and effort, but you've already laid the mental foundation.
(Hint: Try some new strings!)
Music is a love you can never leave behind, even if you don't embrace it the same way.
Keep that guitar on a stand. It is calling you.
ReplyDeletePoetry and music are both related. I'd say you are a good guitar player based on your poetry. Really nice poem. Simple. Comes from the heart.
ReplyDeleteIt's hard to keep it up when your busy. It will come back, it always does.
ReplyDelete