Gently he lays the guitar down
Under his breath the curses flow
Has he ever felt quite so low
A board from which escapes no sound
Frustrated, like a soulless clown
Chords that once held the crowd beguiled
Whipped to a frenzy, raging, wild
Sometimes thoughtful, glazed eyes with mist
Of nostalgia, memories once caressed
From frowning faces coax a smile.
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a resource for moving poetry
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Poetry from my pen
Ultimately, a real understanding of history means that we face *nothing* new under the sun.” – James Mattis
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When the pen takes control. 
Not sure what you’ve done here, Bobby, but I find myself feeling that descending sorrow. Well done
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Deep and beautiful.💜
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