She played him
Like the harp that
Sat at the back of her cupboard
Slowly rotting and forgotten
With the hopes that it
Would be her prized possession
One day.
She played him,
Like the instrument she thought
He was. Unfortunately
For him, the melodies and
Tunes of love that he emanated
Were serene, beautiful, honest.
*Snaps fingers*
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Great poem. I like how you made the reference to him and the instrument.
🙂
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Thank you 🙂
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🙂
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Reblogged this on Pint Size Fiction and commented:
I pity the poor rotting harp… great poem!
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Thanks, Roh… Thinking of writing another piece inspired by you, soon ;;)
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*nervous laugh* I wish you luck :p
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