Played

 

he was very careful,
tuned me to perfection,
till every note he wrung
from me was pure and clear
and exactly what he wanted
to hear.

he held me in his strong
hands and made me sing
songs i'd never sung
and my strings were turned
too tightly to allow me to
think on my own
he owned me body and soul.

and the music was sweet for
a while, beautiful and sensual,
a delight for the ear, oh, he
was a master at his craft.
and when he tired of me,
when the fire was gone
he packed me up and shut
me in a cold, dark place
and never again did i see his
face.

sometimes in this place i think
of him and the magic of his hands,
the beauty of the music he was
able to coax from me
before he broke my strings.

denise

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