Day Four #poemadayfeb: Guitar

And though I have a heart that beats

with cadence and metaphor, still you

don’t know the colour of my eyes.

You once told me you liked music, so

I tried to rip my heart out for you, but

you had already left the table.

So instead I ripped apart the timber of

the house I grew up in and I used it to

build a guitar with my own hands.

I wrote you songs in A minor that told

stories of the way I long to stroke the

hair that falls across your face.

I started to play them for you but then

you told me stories of the way her eyes

glow like the colour of wheat.

You never did notice your name etched

on the guitar and even now, I still write

songs to you I’ll never sing.

All my metaphors are lost on you.

~ ©️Kathy Parker ~

Day Four #poemadayfeb: Guitar

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