I found her.
She hadnt left my thoughts
since a month ago we met.
Dropped a drink on my foot
in a bar somewhere.

A wisp of a girl
twenty feigning twenty-one.
Aqua marine hair, and a smile.
that crowned her ruler of the room.

Im just a fool speaking to Athena.
The scent of guitar wax
and sound proof studios
weaves through her cardigan.
And I remember a time
I thought I could change the world

I have come to find
when I deviate
from my muse of melancholy
I revile my work
more and more.
Perhaps because, inside,
the darkness and emptiness
is a part of every part of me.
And pretending,
is not in my nature.

When I dream of the perfect girl,
I dont see her at all.
My eyes are closed.
I only hear her voice
and feel her embrace.

I have never been considered
a city, or country boy.
More a godless jesus of suburbia
with better intentions
than the next guy.

But recently
my eyes have been opened
to a different way of living
where the country songs
all hit home.

A life of community,
honesty, and substance.
Where a stranger wont feel alone,
but like family, in a beer and a half.
and the warmth in my chest
is not only the whiskey,
or the bonfire.
It's a girl's smile,
the smell of barbeque,
diesel, or the rain in the woods.
Its the sound of a truck,
a guitar, boots on dirt,
the rock and roll.
Its feeling alive.

Where hard work pays,
and southern hospitality
reigns.
Where the rolling hills,
fields, forests,
and grand skies leave you
with no words

It's freedom.

I get it now.

Who am I?

Just a man
with needs, desires,
and compassionate pespective.
A world of perception,
logical, reasonable, sentimental,
and real.
Plotted by ever changing maps,
lifes course.
Yearning for point and purpose.
Striving to make desicions
that do right by everything
and everyone around, regardless
the reprimand, loss of face,
consequences, physical
or mortal.

No fear of any god.
I am my own.
I am full of fault.
I am full of pain.
I am full of thought.
I am full of the same
as everyone else.
I am full of love.

This is who I am.

And there's a girl,
blue eyes more lustrous
than the most prized sapphires.
She's smooth and soft,
coarse and steadfast,
and all things welcoming and warm
as a hearth and a coffee;
cool and brisk as the breeze,
on an autumn morning.
Her voice, calming as the stream
that trickles,
over stones, in my memory.
Wearing the rocky bed flush, running clean,
and clear.
She takes me there.