Broken Guitar

Silence creeps in like an ice knife,

I am shouting and crying out loud,

Fighting a lost battle,

Don't know why.

Stranger to myself, in mirror I see a crone,

During a chaos, I only hear my own hopeless baritone,

Time has coagulated and moving so slow,

I am a nomad and nowhere to go.

Even when songs are sung and guitars played,

It is not a song but rather a war,

Hurt all over, but not even a scar,

And I am string of a broken guitar.

The heart swells and fingers bleed,

The music is too loud to hear,

Out of tune but still continues,

Plucking inside someone's heart.

Full of forlorn, strums to the beat,

The melodies are now history,

Yet constantly played over and over,

Wishing for another composition.

Still hoping that the perfect music will come along,

But how do I forget that,

I am string of a broken guitar...