The Guitar of Bygones -- By Peter Huang

 The guitar of bygones
 Weeps long, 

 Sighs after sighs.

 Softly, me, it calls ...

 Words after words without stops,
 Very much, it hurts.

 When the cord tolls,

 All are still.

 Gone are the bygones,

 Bygones that I remember.

 Into the memory, am I

 In tears, I am

The sound of the cord

Carries me around,
Here ... and there.

--  August 12, 2016, Auckland