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Silently, it lays.
Strings out of tune.
Nothing brings life,
Neither sun, nor moon.

Skin has lost luster,
Lies yellow and pale
Crawlers adorn the gaps
leaving tiny trails.

Discordant, it lays.
Its melody is gone.
Yet the string’s might
wait for the dawn.

Silence is relentless.
This wait is endless.
For touch of those fingers,
for warmth of that caress.

Dusted and dying ,
Lay music inside.
With broken hopes, it laid,
when last night it cried.

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