Unplayed Guitar

Standing in its case;
forgotten, dusty corner.
The silence in this room
is enough to make one cry.
The weight of what could be
suspended and palpable when you walk in.
A kite that never flies,
sadness that never dies,
a long, tired sigh,
a seed that will never rise.
The weight of of what could be.
These tense strings.
Screaming and voiceless.

#26.

2 thoughts on “Unplayed Guitar

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