Singing sweet songs
That erupt from my fingers,
The wooden miracle fills the room
With gentle sounds,
Pouring from a hole in its center.
It has become an obsession.
I love its six strings
And the way it fits perfectly
With my body,
And it always sings for me.
It pulls out the beautiful sounds
Buried deep inside me,
Pulls them out through my fingers,
And my voice has no choice
But to sing along.

It pulls out the words I never say,
The love songs
The sad songs
The mad songs
The songs full of fear,
It forces me to feel
Then it wraps its sound around my body,
Letting me know its okay,
It is there for me,
And it plays on,
Even when my brain has forgotten to focus
On what strings to play.
It plays on,
Even when my fingers slam angrily,
Forcing its sound to be angry too.
It plays on
Through the tears and the fears
And the overwhelming exaltation.
It plays on.
It plays on.
It plays on.