A guitar sits upon a stand,
a yearning melody imbibed in every grain of wood,
and strings still in taught abeyance,
implore a master’s hand to soothe its ill.
Sated notes of past refrains linger in memory,
and silence a cruel and painful plight,
for music is its blood surging,
its very part in life.
As hands delicately choose its stillness,
to find a solace within its frets and strings,
fingers straighten its loss of tune,
and bring it to a pleasing bell-like ring.
Then in hunched intimate stance,
held as if in a deep romance,
notes soar into the ether, like doves released,
melodies chiming in glorious lilting peace.
And as the master’s eyes close,
the joy of sound saturates his now arisen demeanour,
and music of the angels fills his heart,
hands and strings in one voice impart a love so deep.
And on the air, the dry and silent air,
those notes soar into highs unknown,
and ears so beguiled, listen intently
to the love in a heart so enamoured of life.
Music, oh music so emotive and captivating,
how a heart transforms with but a touch,
and a mind surrenders to a hearts outpouring,
when music instructs a love to sound.
Tony DeLorger © 2017
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