a farewell song.
strumming the guitar
he sings softly
of loves lost
of hope
and spiritual enlightenment.
strumming the guitar
in smoke filled rooms
wasted on whiskey and barbs
wishing for fame
or at least something
to take him away from this:
the hell he created for himself
after she passed.
strumming the guitar
for the final time
he lays it at his feet
and takes another swig
from the bottle
as the barrel of the gun
glistens-
this is his farewell song.
Keith Wesley Combs is a union painter living in Kennewick, Washington. His poetry has been published in Cokefish, The Chicago Record, The Main Street Rag, and many more.
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