Tuned and plucked
until satisfied.
Played and played
over and over.
Frustration and pride;
mixed emotions.
Strings snap.
Metallic pain erupts.
Abandoned for
a while
then found and
Feeling like
a melodic
waste of space.

Played by a fool;
the sound is dirty.
Played by a lover;
the sound is pure.

Yet knowing beauty
is made from the string
and sound lights up
the darkness,
it is okay
because a guitarist
will find the guitar.

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