When tears threat to come,
I pick up my guitar and start to
s t r u m .

And every chord has great meaning to me,
A minor, C sharp, G major, B.

I play those strings,
and they play me;
crisp,
smooth,
rich,
and clean.

I hug it's body and my fingers dance;
I play as if it's my last chance.

I hug it tighter and close my eyes.
It's a heaven;
a blessing in disguise.

It may be dead
but it's so alive,
it invigorates me and
makes me survive.


Six strings on my guitar,
bringing me

so close

and yet

so far.