A old man beyond salvation
slumps on the ground
and prepares for his end.
He starts listing what he doesn’t have
beyond the point of coming back
but he still has one joy.
He has a motivation to keep going
but not from himself or
anyone else that he knows,
but for the object he holds,
not a weapon or a tool,
but an instrument of pure art.
not a paintbrush or a chalk,
a guitar that can make one happy
by simply doing what it does best,
making noises that can warm a heart.
He strums the chords and
strokes the frame thinking of where it came from.
Funny how an object could hold such a memory
that itself holds so much sadness.
The old, sad man may be without a home
and a job and a family,
but he still has some joy left in him.