Visits From Mr. Taylor


A friend from a long time ago
Ron was my pleasure to know
Like a blood brother in this life
No cross words or strife

 

Between him and I
Between us we made the notes fly
Hours on the end
Playing guitars we’d spend.

 

And I got to know the man
And from me he’d understand
The things that make two men good or bad
The things that make them happy and sad.

 

And the music weaves this knowledge on it’s song
Ron and I could always make the notes get along
With each other
My musical brother

 

And when the guitars wore us down
I would turn into the clown
For some laughs a few
Unwinding the machine down a turn er two.

 

Then my friend moved away
And he got sick and died on me one day
Which tinted my music dark and gray
And his passing upon me did weigh 

 So his son gave me his guitar
It hangs upon my wall like a dark star
Black as night that  outshines a galaxy
In the evening I can feel its strange alchemy.

 

A pathway from his plane to this place
So the music quantifies this space.
Sometimes I feel him floating in the air
Swirling around me, the guitar and the chair.

 

And he says to me “That’s far out man”
Those words taking me back to where it began
And so I’m playing for my friend once again
Ghost notes from his guitar it’s refrain

 

Ethereal and not easily heard
By those that hear only the spoken word
These visits from Mr. Taylor
Whose presence not exactly scalar

 

And it puts a smile on my face
And the notes begin to interlace
The guitar becomes a part of me
So the years I’ve played it makes me see

 

Why I’ve done it for fourty odd years
At times thru tears and sometimes fears
But never to abandon the lady with steel strings
Launching the notes from her strings with amplified wings.

 

The dark guitar on the wall
Stretching into another dimension it’s long hall
Down which Mr. Taylor comes to visit
I guess you could say our friendship is implicit

  

All the sore fingers and broken strings
That this learning curve brings
Resolved it from work to play
Parts of my life I have to renew every day

 

From some universal direction and dimension
From cosmic declination and ascension
Beams itself my way
For the rest of my days

Dave Proffitt
2/1/2014
12:47AM