This is an entry to the tilde.town carnival, whose theme is prose & poetry.
For my entry, I decided to write a poetry.
Found an old guitar in the trash―
Does anyone know its name?
Searched near and far and Google'd no match,
but I will love it just the same.
Brought it home, it smelled like sin,
and scrubbing with rubbing IPA,
prayed to god but there's some still in,
so I'mm'a have it sit for a day.
Slowly I will learn the chords and keys,
maybe hack together a tune.
Day by day I practice midst the trees,
and I hope to shred by June.
Said "Gather round," to a crowd,
"for I'll soon have wealth and fame!"
And as I played they sang their praises out loud,
while thinking secretly I'm lame.
Then one day I met a fine young lady―
Suddenly, she'd lit my fuse.
Fingers strumming with the love that she gave me,
finally I'd met my muse.
Trying my best, the notes coalesced,
into days of furied focus.
Vocals blessed and all the chords progressed,
I manifest my magnum opus.
Spotlight shining, nearly blinding,
I rushed out right onto the stage.
The night flashed by and now I'm finding,
I've made the goddamn news front page!
Filled with pride and joy beyond all measure,
I look back on my humble start:
For one man's trash is another man's treasure,
when you've got just a bit of heart.