poem158: Lost Ballads

years have mottled its skin

grey shrouds the tangerine

I scrape for the peregrine

obscure between the strings

jammed are the heads

bent is the proud neck

I crave for the prosaic

lost between the frets

tunes unveil eventually

as words crawl up the lips

I seek for the bliss

soaked in fond memories

chords swell to yesteryears

a million lovesick rendezvous

I resurrect dying verses

lost ballads of wild raptures