solitary rhythm

In the quiet shadows, he leans,
Guitar slung low, eyes unseen,
Against the dim, rough-painted wall,
Lost where echoes rise and fall.
The light’s a ghost from a single pane,
Framing him in a soft refrain,
Notes like whispers, raw and bare,
Filling the silence, laced with air.
A lone soul with strings and sound,
In a stairwell where no one’s around,
Carving chords into empty space,
In the quiet, a hidden grace.