My hands caress the back of her neck
-- her curves leave little to be desired.
There are six keys to her heart
and I know just how to turn each of them
the right way.
I stroke her gently,
causing her to cry out with pleasure.

Beauty incarnate,
she shines like a rising sun
-- the centerpiece of the party
-- always there for me,
with her flawless melody.

Strings sing blunder when
I'd wished you were there a cold,
Cold night years prior.

With manly aggravations he strums-

Strums the rust and the anguish away from the strings.

I saw them, floating away from him; vibrating in midair

Those compositions from his melancholy days,

Echoing...

The notes have, somehow, reverberated through my cathedral soul-

I can feel them.

I could still locate the ringing at the ceiling of my skull.

And if I wish to
I could even feel the faint tremors in my heart-

And realize it's actually pulsating...

But surely, it's just an after shock from the sounds resonating

It would fade away.

Of course it will just fade away.

It would fade away the moment he
stops playing.

every time his voice filled my ears
my heart strings vibrated
so he gently plucked or strummed
to match his ballads

but as days passed
with his playing and vocals getting rougher
his fingers bled and scarred
and then i snapped

gone was the singing boy
his beautiful guitar
but you can still see them love
whenever you hear their song

I’ve studied the lore of your Dark Arts.
I’ve read the book; I’ve learned it by heart.
But try as I may, I can’t play the part.

Though I know spells, and magic potions,
and practice the craft, with much devotion,
of the powers you wield, I haven’t a notion.
Black magic eludes me;
I’m not one of the chosen.

Though I can’t cast a spell in the way that you do,
with practicing magic, I don't think I"m through.
I find I enjoy the study and ritual--
in fact, I believe I may make it habitual.

The spirits I summon do clearly insist
that I work forever, as their alchemist.
This servitude, I accept with pride.
The end unknown, I’m enjoying the ride.

You're the Dark Lord; you are the master--
I may never achieve the goal that I’m after.
But on I toil, a servant of magic--
a lifelong apprenticeship--joyful, not tragic.

She was an acoustic version of herself,
Stripped down,
Strummed by life's callous fingers.

It's beauty is endless.
The notes it sings,
the music it plays.
Each guitar is unique,
Each has a different style.
As I play, I am happy.
Double slides, hammer-ons, pull-offs.
Playing the same riff over and over,
until your fingers hurt from the strings.
The feeling you get when you master a riff,
and play it with the song.
You feel unstoppable, You feel happy,
I feel me.

By Arcassin Burnham



Yawning for the morning light like,
I must have been high touching ceilings in mid flight,
I see the dust float in my eyes ,
There was never a doubt in my mind but my minds eye,
For that I am just a strange loop of a guitar playing over and over,
See this weight that i carry is light while in the beholder,
Life lessons about faith in the Lord when I get older
And here I am with a trail full of sins falling from shoulders,
Do you mind? Picking up the pieces for me sometime,
I know you don't care , all caught up in your self-absorbed shrine,
OK, goodbye,
Hello........ no bye , see you tomorrow, tolerating you is the like devil
And his rambles,
Oppressive living in shambles like the abuser used those pills,
Causes and effects out of strings that break the seal,
Lies beyond lies, I'm not sure what they're teaching you,
Conflict is a must in America like burning statues,
So say goodbye to all that you knew,
That you owned,
And the person that use to be you.

Like water, like flowing rivulets,
notes fly from fingers fast on frets.
Slippery sinuous shimmering tones
(complemented by brash bluesy Bones).
Like storm’s thunder and lightning a chord
brings the sky to us on earth—
or is it that we fly , then die until the rebirth
in gentle reverb of a note two octaves higher?
Strange how rain coexists with fire.
Drench us in the cascade born from your desire.