My fingers are blistered from the strings,
though the strings seem to smile.
I hold the guitar in my arms,
with no proper posture, and not caring.
My fingers want to dance across the board,
but I hold them back,
being afraid of what they might do.
The only sound, is the incessant strum and pluck,
as each string sings its solemn note,
this time alone, this time in unison.
Breaking only as the chords go sour.
My fingers gone askew without my knowing.
I try not to think,
to let my fingers move of their own accord,
but the harder I try, the more I do think.
I find the strum pattern an unfamiliar melody,
the chords I know,
a simple D, C, and Em,
but the pattern is unmistakable, alluring.
This siren song is why I try,
I wish only to know whats songs lay hidden,
in those dark corners, and lost coffers.
And then, suddenly as it came, it is gone.
I had not bothered to write it down,
for I found the magic never worked that way.
I start again, from the beginning,
This time though, I try a G.
