I am the sound of my guitar, like a woman weeping at the park for her lost love. Yea, I am sad, lost, but deep down I am relieved to be alone. Yes, the love I lost was sweet and filled my spirits, but in the end, it was gone. For me and my music, there was no love to be found as, perhaps, this woman at the park found him. My love was one inside.
Ah, how misleading all of this is. Perhaps, I will choose a better metaphor.
My music is…
Yes, I have it!
I am the captain of a ship and her name is Song. Aye, she rocks me to sleep upon the sentient waves of life, the happening days of life, the unpredictable yet applicable winds of time. Oh, how my Song captures the waves of life and the winds of time, yet exists outside of both. Exists outside of life and time because I created her. She is my song. And in that, she is life and time, for I am but the froth of the waves blown in the wind.
What can poetry capture, but the metaphors of a metaphor? Is everything so translucent?
Ah, I sit back in a hammock under the creaking decks of my ship and I play. Here, alone at sea, I can sing. Only when the last shore has been faded away and become horizon can I sing. I am alone, but I am found. Is this amazing grace?
It sounds like pity, and yes, sometimes it feels like so, but mostly it is the timelessness of silence that draws me in and holds me in the swaying motion of the hammock and waves. Aye, it feels lonely, but best to feel alone than to be somebody I’m not. Oh, how it feels like laziness, and so it may be, but I am working for the Song and the Song works for me.
Is it worth putting into words and sending into the sea like a message in a bottle?