Art lies in your hands,
\na calligraphy of touch,
\na guitarist who no longer
\nthinks of strings,
\nbut the blend of melody.
\nYou skirmish with death,
\nwith faces, drowning
\nin their immortality.
\nWhere am I they ask,
\nin their fragile stars
\nof blood and bone.<\/p>\n
Can you read the destiny
\nof life and death
\nin my limbs?
\nAs you move my arms
\ndo you feel the firmness
\nof their tides?
\nI am dough out of which
\na life was made.
\nWhat do you hear
\nin the hollow of my heart
\nbeating for the millionth time?<\/p>\n
How long is my life?
\nWhat is it worth?
\nBut you are an artist.
\nYou take contorted roots
\nand praise them for their anchorage.
\nYou look in the paleness of eyes
\nand see the journey there.
\nI am the patient who loves you
\nfor your patience.
\nThe forbearance you show
\nat the misuse of my choices.<\/p>\n
How hard it is to grow
\nwhen in the end I will be defeated.
\nMy hope worn out.
\nIs there still joy
\nin the mystery of your
\nsometime patient
\nalert with life?
\nAnd as an artist
\ndo you laugh and cry inside
\nknowing you cannot leave
\nthe work you\u2019ve started,
\nremembering as you work
\nwhat it was to be a child
\nwhen the whole world
\ntook you in?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Art lies in your hands, a calligraphy of touch, a guitarist who no longer thinks of strings, but the blend of melody. You skirmish with…<\/p>\n