ignorant introspect

every song has the same sound
when strummed on strings untuned
key changes attempt to fix the flaws
but the broken sound persists
carrying chords on crippled wings
landing lazily on ears unwilling
to tolerate the punctuated patterns
of forgetful fingers lost on frets
never realizing what's really wrong
while blaming weather-warped wood
and ignoring the simple solution
because pride provides a gift of guilt
rather than raising wings against wind
and seeing what flying feels like
because it's easier to climb regretful rungs
than building ladders born of love.