His voice had an edge as hard as his life,
Like whiskey and asphalt, distilled;
Face lined like a map of where all he'd been;
A head full of dreams, unfulfilled.
He played his three chords and versions of truth;
His life spilling out in his song.
As long as he had his guitar and heart,
He figured he could do no wrong.
Up on center stage, his face came alive,
The music flowed through him like wine.
He could shatter your heart and then heal it;
With just a few words in a line.
He played his three chords and versions of truth;
His life spilling out in his song.
As long as he had his guitar and heart,
He figured he could do no wrong.
He offered his tunes as gifts to the world
And wrapped melodies with his love.
And, although he lived simply, down to earth,
He seemed as though sent from above.
He played his three chords and versions of truth;
His life spilling out in his song.
As long as he had his guitar and heart,
He figured he could do no wrong.
About the Creator
D'Shan Berry
I love words. I love art. I love Jesus.
Keep reading
More stories from D'Shan Berry and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Light Turns
It's Tuesday 7:13 a.m. A cold and clear November morning awaits Ray on his morning commute. Ray rubs his hands together in the front seat of his Subaru. He turns the air temperature up, but keeps the air on low until the air warms up. He looks at the backup camera screen and reverses the Subaru out of his driveway onto Trimble Road.
By John R. Godwin4 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.