It started out when he was four,
I bought a toy
at the dollar store.
And when I gave him
that little guitar
I never dreamed he'd go to far.

He could bring it to life
with only an ear,
the sweetest tunes,
I ever did hear.
He couldn't write music,
and he sure couldn't read it
but that little boy
sure seemed to need it.

He played for awhile,
but soon it bored him.
He forgot the guitar,
even though it adored him.
He'd begin doing one thing
and fly off to another.
He made me so tired,
just being his mother!

He still hasn't changed,
but he did surrender.
Not long ago he bought a Fender.
When he lays his fingers
upon the strings
the magic happens,
and my heart sings.
I'd stop anything
just to hear him play
his music takes my breath away.

I wish so much it could be his living,
all of that magic he could be giving!
But we must cope with life's demands.
Dreams and desires
are out of our hands.
Playing guitar will not pay the bills.
We make the most of other skills.

I'm just glad I bought that toy.
I treasure the music,
and I treasure the boy.

My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.