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Monday, May 22, 2006


Teenage Guitarist
This is about a guitar player at my church. His name is Kyle, for those of you who go to my church. He's crazy, like me, but not like me.

I watch you stand there,
With your boyish curly hair,
Dirty black chuck stuck out,
Guitar strung low.
Your fingers on its neck,
Caressing notes and chords,
Coaxing out a melody.
Youe heart and soul in the song,
There's only you for it.
You're its life,
The creator of beauty,
The master of your craft.
I stand here watching you,
Imagining things that won't be,
And sing the melody you play.

I apologize to my secret lovers (Smurf, Kytten, Kat, Mantha, etc.)


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