February 2, 2012
By Mboy12 BRONZE, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania
Mboy12 BRONZE, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania
2 articles 1 photo 0 comments

I sit there
Preparing myself
I wait
I think
Then I play

The first chord
Floats away
Gently gliding
On a breeze
And finds a listener

It brings them,
Draws them closer
Then as it dies
The next is born
Following the first

The author's comments:
I like playing Guitar so I decided to write a poem based on how the chords linger.

Similar Articles


This article has 1 comment.

on Apr. 28 2012 at 8:21 pm
comeandgone BRONZE, Julian, Pennsylvania
1 article 0 photos 6 comments

MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!