The Longings of a Timeworn Guitar

Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump,
Its frame beats slowly with a quiet groan,
Dreaming of masking its silent moan,
Seeking a contented edgeless tone,

Fingers strum and tap and click,
Feeling rhythms and melodies tick,

Frozen chords of captured sound,
Tweets, hums, chirping bound,
Singing: hushed, closed, insanely loud,
A sound so pure, so cracked, so round,

Waves against walls and floorboards seep,
Before receding to the limitless deep,

Sounds of joy and sorrow from our heart,
Playing until we are apart,
But when distance interrupts our art,
Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump.