Silent Sounds Poem by Jennifer Rosario

it must be…
yes, I think so.
because everyday now
I walk with pen in hand
if only my fingers weren't as blue...
Yes, I believe it to be.

Every time, around this time
the same hour when the big hand strikes the chord
my guitar
sounds so hollow
like the empty case
of a forgotten music box
words are accompanied by an orchestra full of ghosts
lugging instruments that don't breathe a sound.

So play it loud- over and over again
until the redundant repetition
beats the chorus into the verse
until the piped pitch
forces the bridge to burst
and all meaning gets lost
in a river of murky sediment.