his hands are shuttered.
blinking against the night, there are
crystals formed on his eye-lashes. his fingers
are clawed against the frets,
clenched
around the belly of his guitar
as if it is wounded. it is
gaping, empty, echoing
& note-less, curled
into his body, his arms,
like a child. the wood is
warm
beneath his pulse.
he is empty.
there are
no words, no songs
in his fingertips, his frozen teeth,
his shuddered breath.
there is
nothing
(and I am powerless)
Author notes
xi.
macey-muse (although, you should be able to spot that by now =P), working on a tab for Hallelujah with my new guitar ^.^
A contest entry
- Top Secret - Mission 1 by Tangled Angle.
300 points, ended July 25, 2008, 9 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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i love your style. you write so well and originally.
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