Sitting home, once again in my chair; awaiting “the song” to come from my fingertips
from fingertips Longing for the song of songs, to achieve my goal; a purpose.
Like a monk I sit there, deep into meditation, thought wrapped around me waiting for the
stings to awaken and become vibrant.
As I switch the amplifier on my heart races just as fast; so close to achieving the sonic
lust I crave.
The tone I live for, the magestic cries from the bends of the metallic strings, the strikes
from the plastic pick to tense nickle.
Anticipation turns into ecstasy and I feel, alive.
Through the darkness my eyes burn bright with passion's flame and I am reborn.
Adrenaline surges through me, and for hours father time and I stand off, as light turns
into shadows, until it nears the time to retire.
As time walks around me, lost with in, the flame slowly withers; in need of rest
for a new day.
I sit back down, taking in I have done, lean over to turn the amplifier off and slowly sit
back in my chair.
With a deep breath I lift my axe and place it back upon its throne; so that he too my rest;
for tomorrow shall be the day we create the song to build upon reality from dreams of
youth I hold on too, but for now dreams sit along side the guitar and I.
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