The device that sings words from my heart
A plucking action against the strings should I start
From the box of infinity does serenity ring
With happiness and joy my arms to cling

All of the notes that come out to play
Are accurate to the feelings I hope to convey
And as I strum, I’ll keep you in mind
For love and music are poetically entwined.

i’ll never get
tired of the way
the strings
around my neck
tighten as you play
them and sing;
though i’m unable
to sing along
for your spell is
choking my windpipe
and binding tight
my tongue

and yet i could
never ask you to
remove your hands
and the strings
all wrapped around
my bruised neck,
shut up, and just call it
quits, despite the
unfortunate fact
that the copper and
metal wires are lacerating
my bleeding throat.

I have a friend who plays guitar
I've worked with thousands ... but none quite like him.
His chord choices, the melodies and the riffs that he plays
They can only come from within.

He's been out living as a big rock star
But that's not quite the world that you'd think.
It's a rugged, rough struggle of perseverance and passion
And your life flashes by in a blink.

He isn't a shredder as are many these days
Never cramming notes where they don't belong.
He is tasteful and creative, a sound so original
His strings envelop the songs.

He has no need to display some arrogant plumage.
He doesn't show off with any thousand-note solos.
He doesn't do intros that are way too long.
His moody style transcends virtuoso.

He is my friend and proven it so
Once guiding me through a valley of black.
Not with his music, although that helped.
He did so with his hand on my back.

A music teacher once told me that
"Music is the silence between notes".
If that is true, then his silence is golden
As I love every song that he's wrote.

So all you pickers, players and shredders
in garages or with gold albums on the wall.
Take a lesson, from this humble man
You needn't over play at all.

But don't think that he is timid or without some flair
Don't make boastful quips that you think are so witty.
If the mood and the moment strikes him just so
He can make that guitar sound like Godzilla destroying a city.

I am so proud to call him my "Brother"
Such a musician, such a friend.
His music and his camaraderie have both touched my soul
and I hope that neither see's end.

I write until I tune my head
with my heart.
Words,
are the knobs
that twist my heart strings to the right
tune.

Callused fingers run along the strings of the chord
A riveting hum echos through the wood
A note or two before it starts
The riveting beat of your own heart