Bestowed gift of manifestation
As laid by this babe's head,
Bring abundance to this child
With bounds yet to be unknown.
Create from his flesh a conduit
Flowing bountiful in curiosity
And free in unabashed glee.
Fortify his bones against misery
And afford him only adoration.
Grant him true expression of
Boundless and pure creativity
Cascading from his fingertips
Or coursing from his pouting lips.
Hold his tongue from envious spite.
Transform those jealous intentions
Into tangible and fortuitous actions.
Harbour angers, fears and explosions
To free his spirit for fresh pursuits.
Transmute his negative shadows
Into innovative and fertile passions
That may regenerate his being
And unshackle his ambitions.
Produce from this humble bairn
An infant of widened eyes and heart;
An enduring and steadfast being.
Make him true, fair citrine dreamer.
The day has too few a sunrise to explore
But the innumerous colours are counted
In ritual along the distant early skyline anyway.
Beyond the principle of merely being,
There's the principle of endless sight seeing
Fluttering on the delicate iridescent wingtip.
Although all sights are born of intrinsic good,
Reality requires a respite of recuperation
So the sprite may realign it's own energies.
Wrapped in nature's most pastoral gifts
The sprite feasts on the bounty of true justice:
Nourished by the fundamentals of harmony
So it may be vibrant in passionate expression.
Though delicate to the lowly observing eye,
The spirit of the sprite is bodaciously hardy,
Fearlessly inspired by the very air it breathes:
Time had tested itself, and failed to win battle
Against the ethereal protector of land and sea.
He stands upon his stage,
Guitar in hand.
With no introduction, he plays.
Fingers perform a double speed foxtrot,
Teasing notes with finesse.
Bouncing harmonics with flare,
As he cascades the frets.
He stops. pauses. Soaks in applause.
He changes his tuning,
He changes his presence,
Encapsulating his audience softly.
Without warning, a palm-muted strum
Races against the previous timing,
Deep, trembling chords shake
In between the rhythmic pattern,
Tattooing their sound in the ears
Of all those it teases.
Then, without a strum,
The notes stream down the mountain,
Quenching the thirst of the dehydrated.
The second hand joins,
The current ebbs in a new direction,
As the intensity builds.
Serenity concludes this piece.
He takes a seat upon the stage,
Looks upon his worshippers,
But then dedicates all attention,
To the curved bust on his lap,
Trails his fingers along her elongated neck,
Tempting new notes from her strings.
The double handed caress,
Leaves her trembling melodies,
Harmonies, scales and patterns.
Her wooden form obliges,
Becomes slave to her master,
And ensnares all who hear her pleasure.
The sound reaches its climax,
Leaving a room full of onlookers,
Satisfied, sated and desiring more.
The guitarist bows,
And says 'thank you '