The Immortal Enemy

The Immortal Enemy These calloused hands at which I stare have killed the silence in the air. With pick to string and rapid thumb, I struck him down with sinful strum. But silence showed not - flee nor fight, no mercy plea or cry of fright. He met his end without concern, and vowed to me, "I shall return!" Return he did, when I succumbed, with songs complete and fingers numbed. I used my sword of chord to sin, but silence just came back again.