Poetry, the Guitar Player

His eyes were dreamy,
distant as he strums,
the tenuous bands that
stretched against his fingers.

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He gazed at them
as they had start to hit the drums,
the guitar trembled
in his deft right hands and lingers.

The guitar player plucked
his life in endless songs,
while in his home,
his wife awaits with renewed hope.

He bowed and smiled
at the happy throng.
But deep inside
his heart was sad,
trying to cope.

You see my friend;
the guitar player has a story.
His wife, his love, is sick
and down with cancer.

He needed all the money
for his wife’s recovery;
he has to play
until his fingers
bleed and conquer.

Poem, The Final Attempt

I taste your lips so hungrily

I hope you’d stay and rest.

Your head is nestled happily

between my luscious breasts.

Your eyes met mine with pity,

I felt your soul reach out.

My womb is baby-empty,

That’s all it is about.

I know that there’s still hope for me,

Let’s give ourselves a chance.

A final try is meant to be,

let’s waltz our final dance.