My Guitar Gently Weeps Poem by Owen Cullimore

My Guitar gently weeps
As the faceless city sleeps
Strumming along to the Radio
And the music on the late, late show
Mind wanders back to the days long ago
When I traveled two and fro
With a little rock and roll band
Very well known throughout the land
Protest songs about Vietnam
Bombs floating down on Da-Nang
Soldiers dying by the day
So the politicians could have their way
My Guitar plays the melody
Singing helps the people see
The wrongs committed in the name of war
To the country the fights are becoming a bore
Sitting alone in my room at night
Playing the guitar helps to see the light
The infinite, positive failure it will bring
As the singer continues to sing
Another puff on my funny cigarette
Is the only shade of respite I get
As I look down at my missing legs
All that are left are my two pegs
Casualty of war, loser in the game
Nobody cares, no damn fame
Body bag or walking dead
Seeing is believing, fills me with dread
So guitar, gently weep
I will put you down and go to sleep
Tomorrow is another day
Then I will write a new song, to show me the way
To live my life out of the fast lane
Like an old forgotten train
Let to die by the railroad track
To just rust away never to come back