Guitar, weeping
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Guitar, weepingBy Micheal Axelsen (06/01/2010)1964 was a wonderful and a terrible year. The year the Beatles became famous and the year the Vietnam war exploded.A small room in a small house, in a small Australian town, shows the juxtaposed mix of hope, optimism, fear and hatred. A bible, a child-like poster wishing for world peace, a rough, aging bed freshly made. A recruitment poster declaring that war in Viet Nam needed you to fight for Australia.The paint, peeling off the walls, gently falling and raining down upon an aging and abandoned guitar. A guitar weeping with flakes of paint to become a mouldering heap of leaded white. A guitar once cared for lovingly by teenage hands strumming chords and dreaming of a life of music, song, peace and love. The same hands later filled with enough hate to hold a gun and kill, maim, and orphan in a war the hands understood nothing of.Hands once gentle, then violent, all transformed by time and the era. Then killed stone cold dead before the hate could mellow and a black-and-white world fade to gray. The optimism of youth and the contrast of love and hate disguised as love became a bitter well from which the soul never escaped. The bedroom of a beloved son maintained as a shrine, kept as it was so an old woman could keep alive the memory of a life. The guitar wept, all through those long, empty years.And now, as a deceased estate, this memory could be yours when the property sells at auction later today.
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