Dockery Plantation Blues

In a Mississippi graveyard,
as the midnight hour crawls,
sits a young boy and his guitar
wailing tunes at the moon.
He prays his fingers faster
as they dance across the frets,
weeping at his inability
to speak in tongues from the strings.

He is lost in a fugue
of chaotic chords and strumming,
as the Delta Blues pour muddy,
like the churning brown river,
fr...

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I feel like I'm at a crossroads,

a path I do not know.

The future's looking complex as a vortex

as I continue to grow.

Do I wait in frantic futility

brazenly biting my lip and learning humility?

I see you stuck in Stockholm

waiting for the day that you finally come home.

Destined for greatness

yet thwarted by gravity and quicksand

...

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