The Old Guitarist*



Derelict and disheveled,
lost to the world around him,
Isolation and his old guitar
the only company that he keeps.

No sign of discontent  at his lowly fate,
Almost saintly, that horsehair vest
worn with benevolent grace
over emaciated limbs.

Unemcumbered countenance,
thin fingers caress the fraying strings,
the promise of music dissolves despair,
fills the air with a melancholy

that stems from within ourselves.


*The Old Guitarist…oil on canvas/Picasso-1903