She tore a branch off an old dead tree..
She held it so and it molded into a guitar..
She played the song of the woods..
And the sky cried in the day..
The rain drops looked like diamonds in the setting sun..
She played till the moon rode high..
Crescent light of the night..
She then held the guitar to the old dead tree..
As it became a branch again..
She walked into the pale silver moonlight..
She shined for a moment and faded into the night..

ballad
from the eighties
vibrates my car speakers -
for a moment I'm reminded
of you

The strings
the way I pluck it
gives extra strength
to my soul.
The notes
I try to read
drives my thirst
spirit.
The lyrics
I write in a paper
expresses every single
emotion.
The music
I hear and I make
mends shattered
feeling.

But

The passion
I have
and truly love
seems fading.
The comparison
I get from others
is breaking every
notes.
The people
who are showing that
I am no good
made my paper empty.
Discouragement
scrapes the willing
and hoping
heart.

*-Steph Dionisio, July 26, 2015

My six string draws blood
A small price to pay for the enjoyment
of making music
~  later  ~
Callouses on every tender fingertip
(left hand)

    _
                    
Love draws blood
A small price to pay for its reward
of soul rises and laughter
~ * later*  ~
Callouses on my heart
(every time I think of you - with him)

I'm singing a song from back in the old day
I'm singing the song of today
'Cuz time never changes with nothing unrevealed
No matter what they say, time is grey

I live in a society just as all the other ones
I live in the cultures of today,
Cuz time never changes  with nothing old or new
No matter what they say, time is grey

I'm calling on a God, the one from forever ago
I'm calling on the God of today
'*** God never changes, (while) traditions have their phases
No matter what they say, time is grey

I'm fighting a war that was fought many years before
I'm fighting the war of today
'Cuz war never changes, just a day with different faces
No matter what they say, time is grey

I'm dying a death, no surprise we'll all forget
I'm dying the death of today
'Cuz death never changes, with us stands be still
No matter what they say, time  is grey

I'm singing a song from back in the old day
I'm singing the song of today
'Cuz time never changes with nothing unrevealed
No matter what they say, time is grey

Bloodied fingers are badges of honor
that few men suffer themselves to accept.
Part of the debt the instrument incurs;
a separation of skilled and inept.

The mastery of half a dozen steel
strings oft becomes a lifetime endeavor.
This daring quest for musical ideals
demands commitment lasting forever.

A hollow body touches the essence
of perfection that is merely expressed
by mortal beings of inconsequence
who caress the Muse nevertheless.

Ten fingers endure torture on six strings
for melodies only guitars can bring.