I play on murdered wood,
Pillaged ore,
Stolen stuffs of the
Earth,
Wrought through sweat,
Labor
Journeyed through
Conception in
Greedy and ambitious
Entrepreneurial minds,
Prostituting beautiful
Ideas for
Fame by proxy,
Birthed by hands
Callused from years of
Hammering out hope
In the dingy furnace of
Someone Else's fortune,
Eyes burning on the distant,
Ever-dimming prize,
Through machines
Conceived to lessen one
Man's work to the misery of
Many,
Passed along as a thing of
Value,
Hopes placed upon
Its sunburst veneer of
One more step towards
Freedom,
Independence,
Validation.
Hung upon a rack of
Dreams of being
recognized as
Different, first in a
Reverential, then increasingly
Isolated way,
For a young dreamer
Who has yet to
Surrender his visions unto the
Seemingly inevitable yoke of
A stale reality
That those around him
Can approve of so
They don't feel like
Maybe they are wasting
Their Time,
To be eventually exchanged
For
Hard time spent in a controlled,
Financially definable way
To become something of
Expression,
Beauty,
Truth,
Fantasy,
Escape,
Upon which intangibles
Are made audible,
All boundaries suspended from
The Illusion of Time,
All hopes, concerns, plans, disappointments, pride, shame, fears
Dissolve
in the
Majesty of the moment;
All philosophies, religions,
Theories
Unified and demolished by
What is Happening
Now. (Love)
Incontrovertible,
Inarguable,
Screaming itself into
Existence
Until
We forget.
Get lost.
Hang the guitar back on the
Wall.
Is it worth it?
Too late to ask that
Now.