His guitar cries with passion tonight....
The master's been hurt again;
Love died... or made a fool of him,
Now his guitar must bear the pain
Each note, each chord that leaves your strings
Are tears he is holding in;
Choking his throat, clouding his eyes,
Dear friend, don't turn your back to him
He's hearing voices in the wind,
They're filling the night with lies;
They say his only friend is you...
Why won't he look in my eyes!
I'm jealous when he holds you close,
His hand, caressing your neck;
From the shadows, I offer my love....
He'll take none of it.... not a fleck
So cry, guitar, help share his pain,
You're the friend he holds most dear;
Holding you close, he confides in you,
Through every heartache.... every tear
I'll not cry for him.... I sang my song,
But my message went astray;
And so I'll go back to the shadows.....
Cry, guitar, cry..... as I walk away.....
Very unusual poem. I suppose when one loves someone you can even b e jealous of an instrument he or she holds so dear. You want that person all to yourself and admit no competition to interfere. Beautifully written and very original
I do not play a guitar, but my youngest son does. It's his passion. When he, a 23 year old, plays it in his closed room, I love to hear from outside, sitting at the dining table. Music has its own language, of love. The title of the poem drew me to it, may be because my son loves it so much. The starting sentence, 'His guitar cries with passion tonight....', is my first thought when I hear him play, usually at midnight. 'I'll not cry for him.... I sang my song, But my message went astray; And so I'll go back to the shadows..... Cry, guitar, cry..... as I walk away..... ' - This is so beautiful, so touching!
Truly a lovely heart felt poem Lora. I've always wished I knew how to play the guitar, but though I bought one last year, I suspect I will never learn to play very well. Could be it is too late for me? I'm so glad I can count on God's grace. It must be nice to see life so clearly (you do have a gift) . Of course, it's also true that one doesn't see color nearly as well in the shadows. In the shadows, life is mostly black and white. And that is my prayer for you dear Poet, that as you rise to even greater heights (as I know you will, with or without any of your PH family including me) that you will gradually open yourself to the light, and let God's love and grace color your life. Great comments Ed and Pradip!
Each note, each chord that leaves your strings Are tears he is holding in Brilliant!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Que emocionante! Lagrimas! ! ! ! ! ! Gracias