life of a string.

so this is a poem i wrote at one o'clock one night a few months ago, obviously inspired by guitar. i've played around with a few of these verses to help rhyme and flow, but as they say, art is never finished - only abandonded. so i may come back and change it sometime.



Listen to the way the note dies, reverberating because of well veined, straining fingertips and strong calluses deftly dancing up and down the rosewood board

I don’t think a note ever dies but merely enters the haze,
The wraith of a half-life floats spiraling a downward maze
Every variance of pitch finds its place in these dead days
Every color spinning all at once, every direction, the final phase

So the creator carefully listens, learning and teaching how to orchestrate and manipulate and duplicate all for the sake of a song
Vibrating gyrating strands of steel tell stories with tone and mood and pitch
Any sorrow any joy any thought the strings create comes from the fingers deftly dancing on a rosewood board.
Each song, each note and word composed, have synergy- sung, strummed, hummed
But the sweet sound of song-making is matched by the sorrowful screech of the string breaking