My finger travels on strings Like train on tracks Sometimes like a local train Stopping at every other fret And sometimes like some express Covering a whole lot of distance Before pausing for a moment or two.
My fingers slide From one string to another From one fret to another In turn creating symphonies Which are sometimes an ethereal bliss And sometimes an unfathomable chaos Like creaky old wooden doors On warm humid days
One hand keeps the strings chained While the other sets them free Setting into motion An oxymoronic event And myriad frequencies Reinforce on each other Forming melodies of utter finesse.
They say all your prized possessions Leave behind scars And so my fingertips carry calluses From this wine hued acoustic creature Signifying battle wounds Which i'll always be proud of Aren't you?
I seen her there in that rocking chair Grey hair flying everywhere She was rocking as fast as could be Letting out shrill squeaks of glee
Beneath the wrinkles you could still see The child she so long ago use to be In her eyes was a glint Of a woman hell bent On squeezing out every once of fun She knew her time was almost done But for today she hadn't a care Let the people stare
I watched the grandkids climb onboard As Grandma throttled up and the soared For imagination was her most prized possession She was leaving it to her grandkids, you could see it in their expression
This lesson from their wild haired grandma that they got Would never ever be forgot As that rocking chair flew back and fourth Leaving the gravity of earth Headed for an adventure out in the galaxy Sharing Grandma's fantasy