I am not the man I hoped to be
The boy who looks back doesn’t look up
To me
failure
Guitar collector
Sitting in a room full of guitars
Tried to pluck those strings
But never got far
With each new wave of enthusiasm
A newly stringed gal
Became my favourite pal
Now i’m trapped in a room
Full of new wooden pals
Waiting to be heard
With not a musical bone left in me
To play to the birds