Home on the Range

He plays a song of intricate sound
laced with plucks and scars
of love that is both lost and found
spun webs of silver stars.

Composed of wood and fragile string
that echo in still air
he plays its song, the notes that cling
to what he can't declare.

Amongst the shadow of silver strings
he plays a song so true
that of a hearts soft, sad regrets
and joys for what he knew

Notes sweeter than a word confessed
let loose like water seeping
breaking the glass of desire repressed
that mends with its own weeping.

He plays for secrets not yet known
song let loose in torrent flood
his tune the marrow of sweet bone
the wisdom of his blood.

- Brigid