I tried strumming the strings of a broken guitar,
I tried rebuilding a city back up from its ruins,
I tried singing the words of a distant lullaby,
But had I known once a rose has tipped its head
Watering it would become useless;
I would've left our love's broken pieces
For the wind to come and sweep away.

Head down looking at the strings that she plucked on her guitar,

Hair just short above the collar of her shirt,

Mouthing to every piece that she's playing,

Nodding to every notes that she pressed,

It's hard not to fall to that sight.


But one must remember the danger of falling,

And denying it will only make it worse.

All that one can do is stay,

In what follows, at least that much is better for both of them.


-HIY

I sit in my room
and
notice my guitar
filling me with its radiance
a glimmer of light
shining brightly upon the
softly colored mahogany
it beckons,
calling me to strike ever-so-gently the
strings

to paint on the canvas of
silence
such is my calling

I reach for the instrument but
things are
different, this time
I find not the vibrant breath of music but
the self,
determined and
willing to lay-bare its heart to
the world
my eyes are opened
I am aware and
I breathe life into my lungs
for the first time

Then, she began to sing,
her voice limped out'uv the speakers,
crossed 'round my half-empty glass
and slid into the open stool at my side,
each breathy word was a breeze through my fingertips,
enveloping the space ‘round my heart
she sounded like rust colored leaves drifting down onto unbroken ponds
of a thick morning frost slowly melting away
of the first warm ray from a low winter sun's
and it was all I could do not to love her.

The music echoed off the walls
and caught in the corners
each note its own explosion of sound
erupting from her scratched dream-blue-guitar.
her fingers didn’t just pluck strings,
they caught a note on the edge of its sound
and pulled it into space, sending it through the airwaves
to float on through this dimly lit atmosphere
only a heavy breath away from falling back to earth,

She sang like the last lines a suicide note.
each verse felt vital and final
only to be replaced by the next
feeling vital and final,
each line a beautiful declaration that she belonged on stage,
the only world she ever truly felt alive.

and how I hoped the song would never end,
each little silence scared me
because I had not known how to listen until words left her lips
and I didn’t want to know if it could end.
until it did.
and I suddenly felt like the world was very much alone.

“Hey, nice show.”

         “Oh, thank you. Glad you enjoyed it.”

“That was beautiful. It was beyond amazing.  Can I buy you a drink?”

          “Um, sorry.  I gotta show in Missouri tomorrow and we’re driving
           there, tonight.”

“Oh. Ok. Well, good luck. You really are amazing.”

          “Thank you, again…”

I'm bound to the round sound of the guitar
and I'm deep underground sleeping down with the drowned
now the lights of the town seem extraordinarily far
wound around my crown, sleep drips down from the stars

but I think it's the dope, smoke dances in my lungs
or the drink that gropes both my liver and my tongue
one long blink - begin to float roam the unknown with the young

and opening my eyes I'm awake from the sleep
the dopamine has died my aches on me creep
its time to climb but the slopes are steep
put on my tie and climb in the jeep
put my mind to the pile of files that are heaped
run with these self proclaimed wolves who are sheep
just thinking of home, the release of the deep