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Assaulting the Quiet

28 Feb

The coffee shop is empty now,

patrons have all gone home.

The musicians have loaded out,

their echoes follow.

 

I turn off the lights,

the work is done.

I pick up my guitar and feel it’s energy,

waiting, frustrated by unmet expectation.

 

There’s so much beauty inside it,

but I’m not to be the channel for it’s release.

I gently put it back in it’s stand,

and lock the door behind me.

 

 

L.H.

September 2010

 

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Posted by on February 28, 2011 in Poetry

 

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