A man, you’ll see on outside, hidden by his flesh
If you’d peer a little closer…
Guitar strings are his veins
With a beating heart to merely pump
chords of bloody notes inspiring
Pluck the harmony inside you
Nagging at your mind
Music is his madness, the artist curse entwines
Write, his muse implores him
Manifest lyrical divine
No man, is he, but god, inside
Weaving beauty with his fingers
Dreaming with eyes wide open
A blinded world still sleeping
Drifts amiss to a Pied Piper
The artist can awaken, can lead to better crossing
Sleeping giants so cloudy, march on flighty beats
As madness drives the music, please hear, the cry resounds
If only we would listen
The curse would finally lift
For every curse is a blessing, if you’d only hear the sound
**Dedicated to Ron. I connected with his music a few months ago and found a dear friend and beautiful soul. Thank you, my dear, for painting beauty in the world. Thank you for allowing imprisoned tears to fall freely on my cheeks, and for helping me tear down the first dam of my pain**
Mah Butt Itches 
What a wonderful verse. How do you do it? I have to literally Slavs away to do one.! Hats off to you !
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I stare at the sky then write, or listen to music…Joni Mitchell said she’d write her music tuned to her emotion, the chords the universe made her feel. That’s how I try to write. Type the chords of my heart in that moment, quick put it out.
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