My dark lady with eight strings sits across my lap.
Her strings take their steely toll upon my fingers crack.
Their metallic gray callouses etched into human flesh.
Millimeters in depth, each day fresh.
A product of kilometers up and down the neck.
Billions of notes vanish from an ebony deck.
Into thin air never to be heard again.
Only to be born over again.
The soul of a guitar player.
A note maker and sayer.
Hears things in music no one else does.
With years of listening with the heart because.
Of a trilogy from hearing, with the heart and soul.
Musician’s personalities shaped by this toll.
So I sit here in my living room.
The words won’t come in the gathering gloom.
The creative engine’s gone into neutral.
Sometimes singular and sometimes in plural.
Sometimes I want this with all my heart.
Sometimes that engine just won’t start.
Oft times I wonder if I should do this.
But my guitar I cannot dismiss.
For it is a part of me.
This beautiful lady balanced on my knee.
Suddenly I feel a lighter presence in the room.
Lifting the darkness and shades of gloom.
Weaves it way into my mind.
And I am no longer musically blind.
A feminine presence impossible to behold.
A beauty so impossibly bold.
Speaks to me in whispers told.
On breathy encouragements rolled.
She engulfs the entire room.
And so I wonder to whom.
Is within me.
So I ask to see.
This beauty of the night.
Still floating from my sight.
Like a blue Zephyr within me.
So she says”ye shall see.”
A blue mist forming in my living room.
Tiny particles emanating from the fleeting gloom.
Swirling into a lovely vortex dancing and swaying.
Her words like music as she is praying.
An angel of dazzling blue skies.
So beautiful she brings tears to my eyes.
Eyes of an Egyptian Queen burning with a golden fire.
To me she does enquire.
“Why art thou with tears David?”
“For someone with music so avid.”
So her divine words lilting upon the air.
Play upon my hearing so fair.
“I feel not worthy of your concern.”
My words to her off my tongue did burn.
“Our Father has heard your prayers.”
So she spake unto me this holy sayer.
“He hath sent me here to help you.”
My beautiful angel of the deepest blue.
“I will be here for you for the rest of your days.”
Her golden eyes into mine did blaze.
So I felt her love and concern.
Which made the music in my soul burn.
And my eight string lady and I were again one.
My blue angel said to me “my work tonight here is done.”
“I will always be here David you have but to ask.”
“Nothing you want is too great a task.”
“I cannot do this for you.”
“For this is something you must do.”
“But I will make thee a player of players.”
So I watched her sublime back unto the night.
Disappearing in the blue mist from my sight.
And the music came forth with all it’s might.
My blue angel visits me and on my couch she lies.
And watches me with those fiery golden eyes.
Sometimes she teases me which helps me learn.
Where my playing has taken a wrong turn.
And she watches over me for I see.
I love the conversations she has with me.
And sometimes I think she’s in my car.
And sometimes I think she’s off afar.
But I have only to ask of her.
“Where you were?”
“ I was everywhere and right here.”
“ I am always near you David have no fear.”
Her words sparkling as the stars of the night.
Her gold eyes flashing and bright.
Her long blue hair flowing in some astral wind.
Blowing off of seas we’ve never been.
And the seventh angel paid me a visit one night.
White light, erasing darkness blinding and bright.
In the church of seven doors and seven floors.
In the church of forever more.
And he said unto me; “The Father likes your writing.”
“ I knew you could do this without slighting.”
The evening light flashed off his armor’s glinting spires.
Like the some holy pitchforks on fire.
So he vanished into the gathering gloom.
As I sat alone in the seventh room.
And I realized that we are never alone.
And the seventh room became as quiet as stone.