The Room Below Me
There sits a man in the room below me
Strumming gently on his guitar.
He plays notes out of key sometimes,
And he doesn’t sing,
Simply hitting subtle rhythms,
Softly playing his chords.
This man though not knowing,
Has created a serene beauty
That only he and I
Will ever know.
I await his playing nightly
To help me sleep,
Imagining that he is playing for me,
His audience of one.
First published in Big Question Literary Arts Magazine, 2026, all rights reserved
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