Six Strings Away

Steven Marzella

In reverie, guitar in hand

Alone, plucking each string by its own

Unable to produce the chords that sing sweetly in our head

And beckon for a melody with words we comprehend

The self-proclaimed poet

Prowess deficient of voice and finger

Sitting at a desk, pen in hand

Latent by the book for which I stand

I wish that the world

Could pause all at once

We would take a deep breath and

Listen for the beat that pumps our hearts

Dig the melody that propels the blood through our veins

Bend from the knees

And just jam