Playing With The Strings

Stuck in a dim waiting room nothing but chairs and a lonely black guitar.
Waiting for my name to be called stuck uneasy so I slowly reach out for the guitar.
Strum the strings hearing an imperfect tune, signs it's been sitting to long, strings feel caked in tar.
Making adjustments to bring the strings back into tune a couple of notes gone too far.
A comfort comes a similarity to the cries from the guitar bringing back memories of the bar open mics, cigarette smoke, whiskey neat a dream of shining lights outdoor venue underneath the stars.
The melody starts coming together adding music notes in the air filling the subtle dark.
A shadowed silhouette dances to the song reminder of a missing pieces to the heart.
Intercom calls out breaking the song causing strings to let out a sound puckered tart.
Have to place the guitar back and step to the door looking back saying there you go a fresh start.