The Guitar Player

He picks up his guitar.
He brushes his fingers across,
the silver strings.
The melody he plays is so,
sweet and slow it like the sounds.
Wind makes blowing through the leaves.
The rhythm blossom with breaths,
of ebb and flow.
A stage lights start shining and gleaming free.
The light sparkles off the silver strings.
Chords of bliss which slip away,
can be heard.
Sending the sound of the song,
Soaring into flight.
In such rumbling tones.
The musicians starts to tap his feet,
to the time of the trebling beat.
Dots and words on paper line the stand.
Brought to life by quicken hands,
and soaring voice.
The song rise to a glorious finish.
The audience blinks.
There a pause.
Then comes the thundering applause.
Music was only thing he could love unconditionally,
Listening to him play I realize,
the dreams of poets.
Knowing in life all animals and man,
are sure to die.
But his songs will live on forever.