strucked

I feel like a tight string in a violin:
Playing chords I never knew I could;
Didn’t think I’ll ever lay hands to;
No clue such a thing would exist.

Dead-livingly stuck.

Being the nylon one, segregated from the rest.
Strung into a bassoon, wired and fixed,
Unmoving, oppressed and sick.
No leadership I’ll ever dream to manifest.

Only plently prickly simple vibrations- pluck.

something new

I’m shaking and trapped in the capsule of time,
With petrified ropes that I cannot unbind.
In total darkness, without a helping hand,
Confused, disoriented, I can’t comprehend.