creative poems

These strings bite my fingertips

and laugh each time I fumble,

Such a strange beginning

to a romance so often dreamed of.

Long I’ve been a listener

standing in the hallway,

taking in the conversation,

and waiting to be called.

I want a seat at the table.

I want to drink the wine

and take my part in the banter.

But first I have to court these fickle strings,

and here, on our first date,

the first of many I’m hoping,

I am staring at their beauty

and wondering about their mystery

and how I’ll ever convince them

to let me hear them sing.

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