Disclaimer: I own this.

Musings of a Bored Writer: Halfway to Duet

A guitarist

In a coffee shop

Is alone in a crowd of people. He waits

For the noise to die down

The polished guitar

Is almost like

A part of him

The boy – nay, man

Treats the instrument

With a tenderness he's only tasted twice before

Eyes focused

Not on the crowd but on the strings

He begins to play

And the coffeeshop falls silent. Here he is,

The darkhaired player with the form of a fighter

And a low voice

Who once washed dishes in the back room

And who now holds this rabble

In quiet. His voice

Is all that is heard, the soft sound

Of his guitar all that echoes

Yet the dark-eyed guitarist is alone

In a room filled with people

Because

The only one who truly matters

Remains unseen.

Wings is NaNoing, leave your messages at the beep.

Poetry Rule.

Thanks so much for reading, and reviews are greatly appreciated.