Birthing a musician

He was a happy boy
Behind his guitar
The one he ran too
from the school bus
Exhausted ready to play

These were his fingers
A newborn fawn
finding his legs  
Blisters turning to callous
A necessary evil
Pain to make notes true and clear

This was his bedroom
A sanctuary hidden from judgment
Internal jury sentencing
Was bad enough
No need for anymore

Those were his friends
Asking to come out and play
Not understanding
This was a higher form of playing
It would soon be art
The first one He would impress

That was the neck
A friend and a foe
The low notes where the thunder
The high where the rain
Rain dripping up and down tensioned steel
A mountain of notes learning to scale

This was his Marshall
He worked too hard to obtain
Vintage before he got
Saturated tubes illuminated warmth
This gave his voice volume
From anger to love

This was the music
That piled manure over him
Humbled him enough to grow
Then gave him one brief moment
To command the universe
That gave him a song
A song he could call his vary own