Imagine, I am sitting
at the piano.
Imagine, you come to sit
beside me-to join me.
And while I am playing,  out of the corner
of my eye, I see the twinkle
in yours. The longing in your eyes,
because I caress the keys of the piano
so softly, and you hope, that
I might, one day, do the same
to
you.
But I am no more than a simple musician.
So imagine this, I can play the piano,
but    I could
          make you
                    sing.

Pick up the brush
although the handle be thorns
and paint with words, or love or tears or rain
paint them all the same
paint your heart or the sky or a thousand other things
paint until the brush is dry and fingers bleed
for you are blessed indeed

Up in the backwoods
Of Michigan, lives the
Traveling man name of Tim.
He's in a band, with a million fans, and I think it is a sin, that he's in better shape than I am, and I'm ******* younger than him.
Ever since he got bit by that possum, he will never be the same again.

unfiltered interviews displaying
for all to see

alluring youth offered drive dedication
exposed their introspective sensitivity
kindness obsessions analyzed
their deepest anxieties

fans of their own with
-ia-ending disorders aplenty to bear
their days shared or stolen
entrusted archives auctioned

camera-ready smiles
inner balance thumbed up to the tilt
album sales to arena wealth
ardor of a musician sold

role models pinned to the walls
hunted market gods

Once you fall in love with
An artist, an empath,
A writer, a musician,
A feeler, a healer,
A giver, a lover,
There is no going back
To an ordinary life.

I strung the movements
with my heart.
With shrieks of desperate madness
to escape my self enfetter.

Paper beats rock but
My notes bounce back off blunt
damp stonewalls,
cornering me off.
I'm trapped.
My music goes nowhere,
An eternity's echo
Rings of despair

I model after myself,
each movement, each blow
A craft to my hole.

Where I yearn to see the open sky
Where my music can soar and fly

Just let it go,
Uncage it,
Let it flow.