As i pluck,
each string;
and feel the sensation,
reminding me of
my history's past,
from the sunny
nights, to clouded
days, i weeped
a sorrow of happyness
then, she crossed
my path of destruction,
asking why was i so mad,
my only answer;
was an escaped breath,
and she helped me up,
from the creek, i slept
on the side of the,
crumbled and deserted road
she might not have known,
but she did indeed;
save my life,
i went east, she went west;
destined to meet,
again on the same road;
then it struck me,
like a lightning bolt
would hug a tree,
she - was my metaphor;
for this instrument,
that i play.
ill call this one,
Guitar Solo.