Image by Stimpynin at Deviant Art
time wasted is time lost…
For Poets United Thursday Think Tank : Random Deviation
He steps onto the stage,
under the lights, and the crowd
swells, yelling their appreciation.
He stands alone, holding his guitar,
then strums a few soft chords
to bring silence. He’s in complete control.
His audience acquiesces, leaning
forward in hushed anticipation.
In that moment of silence, he remembers:
fourteen, behind the barn, learning notes and chords
in a whispering crowd of sun-dried tall grasses
that bowed and swayed to his beginning rhythms.
He smiles now, and begins his thundering rendition,
having always known he was, would always be,
Elizabeth Crawford 1/13/11