The Music and Me


Standing together like twins holding hands.
My two guitars different colors same brands.
Staring, silently saying “play me, play me.”
Waiting for me to make them speak they plea.

For their cords that give them to the amp.
This electro-mechanical clamp.
Of four twelve inch Celestions.
My guitar’s noble thespians.

Give voicing to their vibrating strings.
Coming to life notes taking wing.
I am the producer of this.
Sometimes awful, sometimes bliss.

Eight strings crossed an ebony finger board.
The polished frets terminating strings into chords.
And notes of my choice.
That gives the song its voice.

A spiritual connection between instrument and soul.
Upon me this connection takes no toll.
Closing my eyes it surges into me.
Musical vistas unfolding makes me see.

Scenes I wouldn’t normally perceive.
Makes me again believe.
That I should be doing this.
Such pain, such fury, such bliss.

I can make it snarl and growl.
I can make it squeal and howl.
Notes kiss you with velvet softness.
Notes leaden, notes with airiness.

It’s all up to me.
I can make you see.
Sonic landscapes.
Auditory uptakes.

 Notes bourn from the heart.
Pulmonary inspirations that start.
This exchange from one to another.
Two instruments playing for the queen mother.

Thundering bass, with syncopated slots.
Let’s us fill the spaces in these spots.
This low frequency anchor.
A rhythmic and percussive flanker.

 Gives us direction and speed.
For the players who’s fingers bleed.
We bounce off the bass and the drums.
Unifying and solid it becomes.

The music we make.
That makes our fingers ache.
A pain of joy and bliss.
Every one of us insists.

 Calluses on fingers like medals of Honor.
We display to each other with no dishonor.
The price between flesh and steel.
This price we are all willing to feel.

Melodies so sweet brings tears to my eyes.
My job as a musician to make you cry.
To see you smiling thru tears.
My notes upon your ears.

Music is the timing of the soul.
It’s what makes us whole.
Two musicians playing.
Their souls are saying.

A language of notes.
An exchange of ideas that float.
On the air of understanding between.
Two guitars, two souls seen.

Put together as sister and brother.
A beautiful intimacy.
Beautiful in efficacy.
Beautiful in delicacy.


Dave Proffitt







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