Music soars elegantly in my abode, and
with eyes closed, I pluck those harmonic tones
to take away the pain inside,
hunched over grasping my life-raft,
its singing the placation of my fears,
those resonant cured wood a smell I adore,
its life, its form lovingly restored.
It brings me to tears,
this soothing catharsis of heart’s mend,
as melodies flutter like butterflies
and rich tones mellow in mornings rise,
for I, just letting go, of
beauty, pain and emotions
released by music’s tempering flow.
My teenage years echo loud,
when music cured all my pain,
let me weep to rid myself of storms and rain,
and ever did this simple instrument of wood
save me from myself,
the doubts that youth holds in disdain
of all that wants do push for gain.
And still this old guitar remains
a part of me, and fits me like a glove,
soothes my mind,
when troubles call and dance upon my time,
I’ll reach for my friend and play,
as this heart stills in reverence,
to the beauty of sound, the comfort I pray.
Tony DeLorger © 2017