the.forgotten.instrument

neglected
that’s his name
his finish is worn in places
exposing the raw wood beneath

discovered
as she finds him in a corner
her hand finds the first string
the other presses at a fret

crinkled
that’s her brow with the sound
the first note so obviously bent
she smiles and marvels at him anew

inspired
as she begins turning keys
stretching and plucking each string
one by one they tune to her ear

beautiful
that’s his new sound
melodies ringing in aromatic chords
her voice fulfilling the destined duet

adoring
as she smiles, sounds still in the air
her hand follows the inlaid edges
as she loves the worn places

complete
that’s his new name
as his strings and her voice resonate
in songs only they can create

Dedicated to my bride, Angel, for Valentine’s Day.

This poem is part of The Warrior Poet Circle hosted by fellow warrior poet and friend Jason at Endless Impact.

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