Composition in D Minor

Withered fingers Cannot play anymore; I drown in nuanced shades of blue, Not seeing, in my plight, My strings, wound tight, Suspending me Like a puppet, Tethered to life. I in my tattered clothes, Blue like sorrow, Torn like the heart that hopes, Unable to keep out the cold Or cover the secrets I hold— I am the man who mopes, Holding my guitar close As it whispers its chords Whilst I, cross-legged, ponder Life in rags and cardboards. Back to the old routine: Awash in blue, This song’s for you: Echoes of a gunshot; The click of a trigger.