I play my guitar like
how Tristram of Lyoness
strums the silver strings
of his harp and sings
a melancholic blue.
Plucking on the thin
E-string, creating a
vibrating tune, followed by
little chords sprung out
from the smooth friction
between flesh fingers and
metal cords. My voice trembles
along the tempo with strings of
lyrics weave tightly together,
forming a smooth sorrowful strain.
It calls out in despair for
my beloved, whose beauty is
comparable to Queen Iseult,
now listen to my song with
much disdain.
As a part of Year 2 Poetry Coursework Submission 'Emotional Capsule'
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