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Rated: E · Poetry · Music · #2035225
A poem about a mans first gig, and the feelings he feels beforehand.
Strumming the strings,
As you wait for the word,
Worried about nothing
But the wings of the bird.

The bird that opens her heart
And helps to teach you sing,
Helps you learn the right chords
And treats you like ‘The King’.

“One more minute, mate”
A voice at the door calls.
Before you can answer, he says;
“Bet they’ll think your cool”.

Pick up your courage;
And your acoustic guitar and pick.
And walk up that long walk,
Hoping you don’t trip.

The curtain opens up before you,
Revealing with a loud gasp,
An audience awaiting audio
Like a theatre without a cast.

You start strumming on those strings,
Johnny Boy.

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