Ink blotter, eggs splatter,
Fire ring,
Football bladder.
Accosting the acoustic,
Still wanting the electric,
But settling for whatever
Falls into these hands of mine.
Richter scale,
Humpback whale,
Fingers no longer gripping,
Faith in my music slipping.
Can't move my fingers to chord,
So pissed as these hands of mine.
Weather radar,
Telescopes
Disregarded
Horriblescopes.
The urge to play just one last time,
My hands won't listen, lost without reason.
Tomorrow things will worsen.
2 comments:
This is amazing and so very sad at the same time.
I love it and it pulls at the heart.
Thanks dear friend thanks
Autumn
I'm thankful this one wasn't about me, Autumn. I heard someone talking about a friend of theirs who simply lived to play his guitar, and because of the arthritis he has developed, he can no longer play, and can only expect it to get worse. This just kind of flowed while I was thinking about it.
Thanks, once again, for your comments.
Charlie
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