Thanks to ALL the beat goes on

In a colored studio a man plays
acoustic strings that once bled
everyday, styled but hurt heard
rhythms waving hands of the broken man
bleeding in six and eight days return
breathing nature feelings resume
Promised songs lay love embody instrument

Thrice time the music died

how many times, how many reasons
something treasured, becomes the chore
creating was the magic, once lived for
effort was disdained latent enslaved  
time bore, time was, I was dead
practiced years no longer craved, these crushing days

Dust falls, willingly upon a cluttered mind

sleep seeps for times too deep
the winter freezes and so do we
hands move but not so we can see
breathe...serene... exquisite dormancy

A window opens, you look out and its spring

nylon art rekindled as love by a thread
thoughts of forever these three became dead
but here it was, o glorious how things are so said
styled as paintings Shaped upon plates
blood on the board is savored once more
my life's work torn, nay, but reborn

Awe seen beatings, stroking hands of thee