Inextrication

The drum lies in its dark red case, waiting for hands to strike it.
But no fingers ever touch it, for the master of the hands is afraid of it.

The guitar lies in its corner, gathering dust, waiting for fingers to pluck it.
But no hands ever pick it up.

The drum kit lies beside the door, waiting for sticks to hit it.
But no sticks ever hit it, for the sticks are nowhere to be found.

The keyboard lies on the bar, waiting for a virtuoso to play it.
But no virtuoso wants to touch it.

The bass lies between the bookcase and the wardrobe, waiting for a prodigy to finger it.
But no prodigy ever fingers it, for he is too far gone to remember it.

The mic lies in a dungeon, awaiting its owner.
But the owner rarely uses it.

The computer stirs, the blue and red lights turn on, and as it lets out its first dusty breath, I await my saviours.