The Guitar Player
Slowly he strummed his guitar,
The notes fell like raindrops in spring—
As he sang of love and the joy of just living
Of flowers and pets and old flames…
Slowly he strummed his guitar,
The notes were the warm summer breeze
He sang of passion and glory, and told the old stories,
Embellishing them all as he sang…
Slowly he strummed his guitar.
The notes fell like the cold rains in fall—
Of he sung of promises broken and words best left unspoken,
Of heartbreak and gloom and despair…
Slowly he strummed his guitar,
The notes broke like winter ice—
He sang of death and destruction, of suicide and pain,
Depression had taken its toll…
Now he sits in the institution, locked away from it all:
Slowly he strums his guitar…
Pendragon
© 11/31/08