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Contributor: Richard Schnap

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The man upstairs is playing his guitar,
Softly accompanying his solitude
As he does in the late afternoon

When the curtain of the day descends.
He used to have a girlfriend
But she is long gone, and I wonder

If his gentle strumming as the night
Approaches reminds him of the love
They made that is now but a memory,

Each note a faint echo caressing the
Bare walls. He makes me think of all those
Alone in life who compose a simple music

To pass the time while they wait patiently
And helplessly for whatever lies ahead,
Whatever is before them in the shadow to come.

For we are all playing on the same instrument,
Whether bitter or broken, in sickness or sorrow,
Playing as the light that guides us slowly dims.

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Richard Schnap is a poet, songwriter and collagist living in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. His poems have most recently appeared locally, nationally and overseas in a variety of print and online publications.


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