Setback

Sitting in my room,
strumming on my own
my guitar shared the pain.
All the same old tunes, but different from before.
No pick was used, just the flat of my thumb,
producing a muffled downcast tune,
not assertive, not insistent.
Slower than the usual pace, kind and forgiving,
as befitted this humbled state.

Devoid of lyrics, as none were needed.
Only the lonely chords, soft and melocholic,
with haunting silence between breaks.

Slowly it emptied my mind,
and along came the peace.
Soon sleep shall come, and with new hope brings the morrow...