The twang of the guitar
in the cold winter's air, holding
the note in eternity
to captivate the listeners,
and onlookers. I shall not say
what I wanted them to see, I just wanted them
to sink -
sink into the melody, nostlagia
and hope for the better tomorrow.
The sky cried silently onto the pavement.
The spectators left and I took
the guitar home with me
to be laid next to a burning fire
to dry away the emotions
but I knew that there were stains on my listeners.
They had gone home with it,
drenched.
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