A life spilled like a cheap wine glass,
all soaked up by frets and strings
of a symbolic stratacaster guitar.
Dispersed unto the eager ears of,
those trembling bodies who thrive
off of a soul food to motivate their dull lives.
An elephants ballet for encore;
Their ivory flutes whistle cords,
Collapsing structural staffs
Of modern day conventionalism.

A pick plucking; embodying sounds
of pain, sorrow, love, anger, and a drug;
a drug to single-handedly manipulate
the mind of man and create marvelous art.
A voice to preach a thousand followers,
an extravagant melody to move a million,
imagery in words which can be seen,
through the thickest of clouded minds.

Rainbows tango in a furrowed brow
As the elephants begin to parade
On deaf ears of a lost generate.
As the corpses fall, and ash
Dances hand in hand with the wind,
The bones of what was falter
In the limboing finger tips of today,
And the flutes shatter to thousands.

Dark tinted shades that act as walls
between eyes of a musical god,
and the eyes of his dedicated apostles.
A life chapter ends like Isaiah,
a mentor solemnly steps off stage,
the light in which lit up his life fades,
and the apostles scream his name one last time.
The pieces slip the nooses of
Trembling octaves to decorate ebony,
Before midnight casts collapsed
And the abstract attached...
To reach a vision of strata-cast.