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Bogdan Dragos
Poems
Jan 2021
an old instrument with rusty strings
he sits alone in the
darkness
on a wooden chair
The walls surrounding him
have no
mirrors and
the windows are covered
by the thickest blinds
He doesn’t want to see his
old age
and the decay that already
started consuming
his body
In his mind he’s still
young, still
in his early twenties
still dreaming
He’s listening to music
He’s playing the music
and it exhausts him
The music comes from
within
An instrument with strings
His growling guts
He lubricates them with more
beer
WITH AUDIO: https://bogdandragos.com/2021/01/25/an-old-instrument-with-rusty-strings/
Written by
Bogdan Dragos
M
(M)
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