You hold guitars like they are offerings

A well of words

which spill over troubled bodies

a deluge of whispered sounds

which soothe thirsty skin

soaking the silence with quiet messages

which swell the heart

 

Your music touches minds

with lullabies of good intention

with fingers that seek wounds to heal

and fill crevasses with emotion

and flakes of skin

 

You hold guitars like they are offerings

 

Your gift is incoherence

a dam that breaks with joy

your water brings comfort

a place to warm bodies

a place to meet friends

and pay homage

 

Yours is a place upon which stories grow

on which to build homes and dig moats

in which to hold the waters of your words

it holds back enemies, our memories

it saves us from ourselves

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