Broken Pick
Frustrated;
My retarded fingers
and flat voice
commingle
with
my
rusty dull strings
Off the beat and rhythm
there's a decision
and the cacophony
that ensues
is this moment
To make
or take
into the aether
Does this mean anything?
Resonating wrongly
A Minor or Major here and there?
Floating in the void
and neither making
a
coherent sound
For the pitch is twisted
uneloquently
relayed thoughts
of musicianship
Like a stampede of
mustangs
This moment is dispersing
I'm losing my muse
appearing moment to
moment
The Notes that should be flowing
seem distant
and shriveled
quibbling for the oxygen
breathed through
the body
Gorilla fingering
her neck
stumbling onto
each fret and beating
the voice that is
her rosette
The top is stark contrast to
the tenderness
I've seen others play
Were the binding is clean
and
seamless
with
Ornate inlays on the strap and button
But she is my bride and I her groom
From her stubborn headstock
to her machine head which looms
and the tuning keys
are mine to mend
and her strings to bend
back and forth according to
Pythagorean Theorem
Medicine to a weary soul
