Soundbox
In the constant exchange of pain for beauty, the callouses form on my fingertips as they press deep into the metal strings to evoke a sound most soothing to the ears and ever more soothing to the soul.
It is a thing of beauty, this guitar. A soundbox of highs and lows, reflective of life itself. It is odd to think that these little notes fill in the blanks for that which we cannot put into words. Art surrounds us and blankets our mind and body. The emotion that is trapped within our mind as a scared rabbit is hugged by the tones of the soundbox and brought out to accept and release its struggles. A neck as long as a giraffe's is fretted with metal and made of wood. The endless combinations and possibilities sit at your fingertips waiting for you to take the pain to ease the pain. It's eloping curves form to your thigh. A thigh that has sat many a place and has caught many a tear. A thigh that's an outcast to the mirror but fits right in with the grooves of your soundbox. The strings stretch over the neck but the sounds they make keep them from stretching over your's. Pick or hand, they have found a purpose in sound. Sounds that many come to hear and many envy to make. Pick a fret and pick a string to express the emotion within. The sounds of sorrow or the sounds of morrow, whether its depression or the succession from it, my soundbox you can borrow. These strings you control, unlike the chains in your brain so never have disdain for those that take their pain and make a cane for themselves and those that walk beside them from art and from love.
