Six Strings Part II

He came in a flash, riding the lightning of the moment. He first touched earth with a cautious reserve, unaware of his own natural beauty. He did not plan on the honest resilience that seared through his brain, a result of intense heat. He would later come to learn that it was the friction of happenstance that scorched him so, leaving a concentrated verse with no remaining filler. He started to explore, somewhere along the Pacific coast of Mexico he believed. The meter didn't matter and often changed, time signatures a title he didn't think too much about. He embraced the nature of his existence, a contentment with his role in an ever more confusing land. His contentment, however, was laced on occasion with brilliant flashes of light, bringing him back to his roots of discontent and dereliction. He is still coming to terms with his motives and the resulting mayhem. He is content only in motion, letting the pace spring him from his sizable insecurities.

I approached her once, along a slow moving river deep in my heart. There were birds cautious to chirp, taking their time between small salty breaths. It was as if they were outside the beauty of the moment they helped define. I remember the sky was as blue as could be, a hue not recorded in the history of time. She spoke of rare fruits and the simplicities of nature, relying on primitive science to explain her overly sophisticated sentiments on the curves, sways and slights that divided our small beach from the thick brush across from us. There was no breeze, no anxious cloud formation pushing to pass us by. I didn't need to chime in, for she was the medicine we all needed. I shared with the water and stone a vague sense of friendship and sanctuary, if not compatibility, that seemed more atomic and microscopic than anything my internal philosophies could recall. She stopped for a moment as a leaf floated by, prematurely plucked from her home atop a heathered perch. The leaf moseyed along, soaked not in water but the luxurious lather of purpose, unaware of the anxiety that I have felt in the past. I almost felt jealous of that leaf, her veins running away from her strong stem, pushing to the brink of exhaustion to rid itself of the mass in between, giving strength from example. Life from limb. The leaf's beauty prevailed, and I returned to my bond, obsessed with the raw inspiration of the moment. She began to speak again of the river...