Same Old Song

The lines of age gently map my face
while silver strands tease hair
I try to remember the chords
of Stairway to Heaven
never forgetting
the young years
when I wanted
to change
the world
but instead,
it was the world
that changed me.
With hands, older now
I strum six strings
from my youth
up and down
on a neck
of wood
unfettered
and lamenting
riffs reminding
me that the music
within has never died.

© Literary Remains

10 thoughts on “Same Old Song

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